


Under the Surface

by GhostFox



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Extreme Gore, M/M, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV switch, alcohol mention, detective! iwaizumi, serial killer au, serial killer! oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 84,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostFox/pseuds/GhostFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a fine line between human and monster; you just have to cut deep enough to find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Definitions - Oikawa

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: extreme gore! It's already tagged but I just want to make it very clear that there will be a lot of violence and I just want to make sure everyone who reads is aware. The first scene is pretty extreme, but I promise the entire story isn't just blood and guts.  
> Enjoy :)
> 
>  
> 
> I see you're displeased a middle finger response  
> I'll try to appease  
> I'm sorry don't be mad but ask me what  
> I'm sorry for and I won't have an answer  
> Look me in the eye and let 'em flow again  
> Lies on the rocks with a twist of desperation
> 
> -Eve 6

What defines a human? Their bodies? Their souls? Their _morals_? What happens when they are drained of everything inside of them? Left as just a useless empty sack of flesh, pitiful as they lay among their own precious life blood; good intentions ceasing to mean anything more than an unexecuted sentiment. What are they then?

What about the person who tore them open and emptied their disgusting shell of a body? Are they a human?

What defines a monster?

The answer isn’t clear, or even straightforward in any respect, but I can tell you one thing; monsters do not hide in closets or crawl from underneath beds in the middle of the night to grab for dangling hands or unguarded children. They, for the most part, possess all of those qualities that seem to be important to humans, and yet, there is something fundamentally missing. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.

“Tooru? Everything okay in there?”

The feeling of the empty wine glasses in my hands feels sudden, as if they were just placed there despite residing against my skin for several minutes, forgotten.

“Of course,” I call, grabbing the bottle of deep red wine from the counter and heading back to the living room where the woman waits. “Wine, beautiful?”

“Ah,” she smiles, leaning forward to examine the bottle, obviously trying to show off the way her neckline plunges between her unspectacular breasts. I pretend to look. “You had me at merlot.”

I laugh, and I can practically watch her trust levels rising behind the brown of her eyes. She isn’t even putting up a fight. It’s almost boring.

“I love a clever woman. It’s not often you meet someone so funny _and_ gorgeous,” I smirk, pouring a glass of wine and handing it to her, plastic purple nails tapping against the sides as she takes it.

“You’re too much,” she blushes, and I can almost feel the heat radiating as blood sits just below the surface of her cheeks. That artificial pink powder just millimeters too high holds no candle to the real thing.

“So, you were telling me about this coworker friend of yours and the new promotion opening,” I say, flashing a smile that conveys I am interested in both her story and her company, making sure to let my eyes fall to her lips briefly. I’m not, interested, that is, this evening already far too exhausting, and it takes all of my willpower not to cringe as her lipstick adheres to the rim of the glass as she sips the wine, the delicate skin stretching and leaving a gluey imprint of red, but I need this. It’s been far too long.

“Please, continue.” Please don’t.

“Oh! Yes,” she says, setting her glass down and leaning back against the sofa cushion, eyes lighting up at the prospect of talking more about her pathetically petty life. She runs her hands through her hair as she speaks, one long dark strand falling slowly through the air and landing on a throw pillow. Great, now I’m down a wine glass and a perfectly good pillow. She better be worth it.

She leans against my shoulder at some point after god knows how many stories, shampoo scent and too much perfume mixing and wafting up into my nose, gagging me with the warmth of her. Disgusting.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Tooru,” she tells me, her eyes glossy when she turns to look up, too much wine showing through the widening of her pupils and he crease of her eyebrows. “I feel like you really care about me. More than anyone has ever cared about me.”

“It’s hard not to,” I whisper, biting the inside of my cheek as I rub the back of my fingers down her cheek, soft under my touch, yielding like over-ripened fruit. “There’s so much to care about.”

She sighs, closing her eyes and leaning into my touch. If she can hear the way I grit my teeth she doesn’t acknowledge it. My patience is growing thin. I don’t even remember her name; I was just so desperate to find some company that nothing else registered in my mind.

For a moment I think she’s fallen asleep, still leaning into me, but when she open her eyes to look back into mine there’s a bit of sobriety in her expression. “Do you think you could love me, Tooru?”

There it is, like dinner bells ringing in my head, and I feel it, that animalistic edge creeping across my skin as my hand moves to her hair, the warm smell no longer so revolting.

“I think I already do,” I smile, licking my lips as I let her hair sift through my fingers and fall back to her side, eyes trained on the beating pulse on her exposed neck. Her own animalistic urge passes into her gaze. Both of us want something, but only one of us will get it.

“Do you want to see the rest of the house?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A few quick paces to the staircase and a confused look on her face as I lead her down instead of up. “It’s more private down here,” I wink, pulling her along behind me, fingers encircling her thin wrist. I’m almost upset that she doesn’t protest. It’s more fun when they protest.

My hand finds the latch in the dark, my fingers fitting against the cold metal like that last satisfying piece of a jigsaw puzzle, the picture complete. She giggles as I pull her inside, and I mirror the action, anticipation bubbling up inside of me as the heavy door closes behind us and I click on the lights.

The bright white, almost blue, lights welcome me, gleaming off of the clean metal surfaces against every wall. She turns, confused, wide eyes meeting mine as she tries to hide the fear; trying to hide the way the thin skin of her throat bulges as she gulps. “Tooru? What is this?”

“The spare room,” I answer, clicking the heavy metal lock into place as my lips stretch over my teeth, tears beading in her eyes as she realizes the mistake she’s made. This is my favorite part of the show. Well, not really, but it’s definitely fun. Breath shortening, growing ragged with each new intake of air, hand flying to her chest, a split second of determination as she bolts for the door, tearing at the lock with useless fingers and desperate hopes, broken sobs and incoherent word as she slips down to the floor, defeated.

I watch like a delighted child seeing his favorite movie for the hundredth time, strolling around the room and letting my hand trail over the clean polished silver surfaces of the cabinets and tables lining the walls.

Top drawer near the freezer; gloves, aprons, plastic surgical shields, paper masks, all slipped on just in time for the questions to begin. _God_ , do I love the questions.

“Who are you?’

“Aw, come on,” I pout, opening another drawer and pulling out a tray, lining it with a thin cloth. “That’s no fun. You already know the answer to that. Oikawa Tooru. I’m not a _liar_.”

“ _What_ are you,” she spits, unimpressed by my attitude.

“Hmm. Getting better. There are a lot of answers to that one. I’m a man, I’m the owner of this fine establishment, I’m an optimist, an intellectual, a romantic, a great cook. The list goes on and on.” Another cabinet, another drawer, and I start to fill the tray.

“What are you going to do to me?” That strength is still in her voice, despite the redness of tears and betrayal in her eyes.

“Haven’t figured that out yet. Depends on how well you cooperate. So far your prospects aren’t looking too great. You see, I like to get out what I put into the situation, and you, you are one of the most insufferable people I’ve ever met.” When everything is prepped I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms and waiting for her to ask another question.

“Why me? Are you honestly going to do this because I’m annoying?” Her voice breaks, betraying her carefully angry fear, and my heart flutters. I feel better already.

“No, of course not. That would be silly. But, I do admit you aren’t exactly the type of person I usually aim for. You’re a petty bitch, and I hope your coworker gets that promotion, but you don’t deserve to die. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I was desperate. I do apologize,” I shrug, and she starts to cry again.

“Please,” she whimpers, and I am practically giddy. This, now _this_ is my favorite part. “I’ll do anything. Money, I can give you money. As much as you want.”

I roll my eyes and pick up one of the tools on my tray, a particularly menacing pair of forceps, and she starts to sob. “Please! I swear, anything you want! I’ll do anything! I won’t tell anyone I promise, just please let me go. I have a lot of money in my savings; you can have all of it! And I can get more! Drugs? I can get you drugs if you want them! Sex? Do you want me to have sex with you?” Her voice is barely understandable, riddled with choking sobs and broken noises as she names off all of the things her little mind can fathom as motivators. Too bad what I’m looking for is much less tangible.

“Don’t insult me, darling,” I sneer, dropping the forceps and walking forward, kneeling and grabbing her face in my gloved hand as she tries to scramble backward but finding nowhere to go. “You were going to do that anyway you repulsive bitch. As if I want any part of you touching me.”

“Why are you doing this,” she chokes, trying her best to speak through the way I have her mouth gripped between my fingers, digging into that soft skin.

“Because I have questions, sweetie. And the only place to find the answers is underneath someone’s skin. Inside their veins, chugging along inside their organs.” My voice is scathing, my self control slipping. “Let’s hope you have some answers to offer me.”

“No! No, no, no, _please_ ,” she pleads, trying to resist as I pull her up roughly by the arm, all giddiness replaced by anger and a need to get this started, leading her to the metal bed in the center of the room.

She screams, fighting and clawing at the rubber lining my arms and failing to find a grip. Every insulting name I can think of slips between her smeared red lips as I lift her up and onto the bed, strapping her down, her legs failing to connect as she kicks out at me. She must think I’m an amateur.

The fighting stops when I get her last limb secured, the cold straps biting into her bare skin. She breathes heavy, glaring at me through mascara clumped lashes.

“Now now, sweetheart,” I pout, the anger started to fade again, allowing me to enjoy myself. “No need to look so upset.”

“Fuck you,” she spits, pulling at the wrist straps and groaning.

“Ugly words for such a pretty mouth,” I sigh, shaking my head, tears welling back up in the corners of her eyes.

“I can’t believe this,” she babbles, eyes squeezing shut and nose scrunching up as tears come faster than she can control them. “I was ready to love you.”

“Bitch, you don’t even know me. Look at me, look where your good judgment got you.” I grab the tray and slam it down on a rolling table next to the bed. “You’ve known me for about twelve hours you stupid slut. You’re so needy, so desperate for validation, that you let yourself trust me. _Me_! The last person on earth anyone should trust.  I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it’s not towards me. This part never is. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” Over and over, shaking her head, and I just watch, letting it leaver her system as I try yo pick out the best tool, settling on a scalpel.

“Done yet?” She doesn’t answer, just whimpers some more, chest heaving as she breathes, “Well, anyway. Feel free to scream. It’s sort of like encouragement. The louder you are the better my review. So far I have about, hmm, four and a half stars. I’d say five, but I believe there’s always room for improvement.”

“I won’t,” she says, clenching her teeth and refusing to look at me. “I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

“Ah. They always say that. The strongest resisters always end up being the loudest,” I chuckle, stepping forward and lowering the scalpel until it almost touches her chest. “But good luck with that.”

Her breathing gets shallower, entire chest heaving as the tip of the knife touches skin, a thin line of deep red forming underneath, and I pull back. “You know what? I like you.”

Her eyes fly open and she turns to look at me, shock and hope all swimming together in a cesspool of emotion. “No, no, not like, enough to _not_ kill you. But I think you have a good heart.”

She nods, hair catching under her shoulder blades, ignoring my words. The important ones, at least. “Yes! I don’t deserve this! You can let me go and I swear I won’t tell anyone, please I _swear_!”

“Just shut your goddamn mouth for a second, Jesus fucking Christ. What I meant is I think you have a good heart, and I want to see it.”

I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider, but as I drag the scalpel from the base of her throat down to the neckline of her dress just below her breasts I believe for a moment they’ll fall right out of her skull. That would be a first.

A quick gasp leaves her mouth before she clamp teeth down on her bottom lip, trying to hold in the rest of the sounds. Her blood slips down her skin, running over her collarbones and gathering in warm pools between the metal and the curve of her shoulders. I wonder how it feels having your own internal temperature warming you external pieces. Weird, probably.

I cut more on each side, forming flaps out of the skin and folding them over each side, exposing white bone underneath. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on what parts of her aren’t covered in blood, but still she doesn’t scream.

“Here comes the fun part;” I singsong, feeling better than I have for days as I open one of the larger drawers of the rolling table, pulling out a simple circular power saw. “Hello, old friend. Haven’t seen you in far too long. Been well?”

“You’re sick,” the woman pants, twisting her head away from the pooling blood. She’s stronger than I thought.

“No need to be rude, darling.”

The saw starts up like a charm, letting out a high pitched whirring that bounces off the metal surfaces of the room. She whimpers again, squeezing her eyes shut and practically biting off her bottom lip.

“This might tickle,” I smirk, flicking down the plastic shield attached to the surgical headband. “Safety first.”

As hard as she tries she can’t hide the fear in her dark eyes as the spinning blade closes in on her bone, and yet still no sound comes from her mouth as they connect, but I can see that it hurts. I can’t even imagine how much. She seems to slip in and out of consciousness as I cut, silent the entire time.

There’s a thin spray of red splashed across he plastic shield over my face, like someone put blood in a Windex bottle, coating my vision with her exact hue. Bodily fluids disgust me, for the most part, but I’ve always been better at dealing with people’s insides rather than their outsides. Momma always said I should’ve been a doctor. We’ll call this a half success.

The woman is stoic through it all, through the blood spraying and the saw crunching, through the bits of bone flying up and clicking against my plastic shield, the only sound a soft release of held breath when it’s over, her sternum sitting in two separate pieces in her chest. A good buildup always promises a spectacular reward.

And it does come, like Moses parting the red sea in the stories Daddy used to read to me every Christmas. I stick my fingers between the halves of bone and pull, coming apart just like I read they would, and her sticky red lips part as the suppressed screams bubble up and spill over, mixing with the sounds of my laughter that I can’t seem to quell.

“Isn’t this fun, darling? Aren’t you having _fun_?”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME YOU GODDAMNED PIECE OF SHIT!” You can hear it, the pure adrenaline fear in the base of her throat as she screams and thrashes again, crying and puling at the belts with everything she has, which isn’t much. The loss of blood catches up and she calms down again, drowsiness playing at the edges of her pale eyelids.

I shift my attention back down to where her heart lies exposed, nestled snugly between her straining lungs. Still beating.

“Very healthy,” I tell her, impressed by the bright pink color of her lungs. “Non smoker. I like that, ya know? There’s nothing worse than opening a person up expecting this great color and getting a gross gray mass of sponge instead. People are artwork on the inside. I like when they respect that.”

“Y-you’re a monster,” she pants, using all of the strength she has left, but still not quite closing her eyes. She wants me to see, to _feel_ the hate coursing through her veins. I know it all too well.

“Am I? Hmm, I wouldn’t know,” I shrug, leaning down to get a better look at her beating heart as it struggles to keep her alive, the smell of salty iron and too many emotions in the air. “Your heart is fascinating. Much stronger than I expected. Do you mind if I keep it? I’m not sure if I have one of my own.”

No answer, as expected. I trail one rubber coated finger down the side of it, feeling the change in texture between thick muscle and fat, and she winces. “By the way, sweetie, it really would be helpful to know your name for my own convenience. So, before you bleed out, if you could just refresh my memory.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she scathes, words still managing to bite despite their lowered volume.

“Beautiful. What is that? German? Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore,” I mumble, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep them open. There isn’t enough time for my words to sink into her dulled mind before I wrap my fingers around the muscle and cut the tubes holding it in place, cradling it in my palm as it continues to beat, losing speed by the second. I barely even hear her screams as blood fills the empty space, losing power just the same as my new toy, and ending before she even has time to register what it feels like to be heartless.

“You fought so hard. I’m proud of you, in an odd sort of way,” I tell her, striding over to the freezer in the corner of the room and taking an empty plastic bowl from the cabinet next to it, dropping the heart in and doing my best not to smear blood on it as I snap on the lid. “In you go.”

Pulling off my gloves I open another drawer, finding my label maker and typing in the appropriate letters. When I slide the bowl into the freezer I make sure to have the ‘go fuck yourself’ part facing out. What can I say? I’m sentimental.

As I turn back around, my high starting to wear off, I groan, eyeing the mess I’ve made. Cleanup is always the worst part of having company over.

“All this,” I sigh, looking back over at the woman as if she can still hear me. “And the only thing I learned is that taking someone else’s heart isn’t a proper substitute for not having one. What a shame.”

I step up to the woman’s body, smoothing down a bit of her hair that hasn’t touched the blood, her face oddly peaceful after everything I put her through. “You really are beautiful, my dear. And I was right in saying you didn’t deserve this. But, duty calls. Or…hobbies call. I do wish I could’ve learned something from you though.”

I leave her side, striding to the other half of the room and opening the cabinet where I keep the cleaning products, the smell of bleach and spray kitchen cleaner hitting the wall of warm blood scent. The worlds of before and after colliding.

“I guess there’s always next time.”

***

One incessant beep after another, item after item swiped across a counter, thousands of faces passing, never quite the same, and thousands of grubby dollars shoved into my palms daily. Swipe, beep, bag, pay, and off they go, back out of the automatic glass doors they entered from carrying my fingerprints away with them. A piece of me resides in hundreds of households across this city, making no impact on the people who will never recall my face no matter how much I wish I could forget theirs.

Cashier isn’t exactly the type of job I had in mind years ago when every adult I encountered asked ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’, but sometimes things just don’t work out the way they should. Sometimes dreams don’t come true and you end up wearing a bright red polo and khakis with an intimate knowledge of what brand of paper towels most families tend to use. I prefer Bounty, more absorbency, but, ya know, Viva is cool too.

“Excuse me? You rang my mouthwash up as ¥480” the rather angry woman with a frosted a-line haircut and large brown sunglasses (who wears sunglasses indoors?) pulls a plastic bottle of green liquid identical to the one in my hand from the bag turnstile and holds it out to me, eyebrows raised.

“If that’s what showed up on the screen then yes,” I answer, swiping the second bottle and looking up at her as ¥480 flashes across the screen. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

“Yes there is. These were on sale two for ¥560. You should know that.”

Oh yes of course, because it’s my job, the cashier, to memorize every price in the store. How silly of me. “Sorry about that,” I smile, no hint of anger in my voice. “I’ll call in a price check.”

“Can’t you just put it in? I don’t have time for this,” she sighs, pulling off her glasses so I can get the full affect of her ‘I will not hesitate to speak with a manager’ expression.

“Sorry ma’am, its policy. We like to be thorough here at good ol’ Target Inc.,” I shrug, picking up the phone on the wall divider behind me and switching on the intercom. “Kei, I need a price check on register four.”

Tsukishima takes about five full minutes to reach the register, just as I knew he would, the woman practically steaming from the ears when he arrives. “What can I help you with?” He asks, monotone voice and monotone expression.

“She says the mouthwash is on sale two for ¥560 but the system is pulling them up as ¥480 each. Could you run and check it out for me?” I give her a reassuring smile as Tsukishima turns and walks back the way he came. “He’ll get right on it, don’t worry.”

“Can you at least ring up everything else while we wait? I’m late picking up my daughter from soccer practice.” Of course you are. I could tell just from looking at you. You _scream_ soccer mom.

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. Sometimes the system is really touchy when we go back to alter things, and then we’d have to rescan _everything_ and that would take far too long. It’s better just to wait.” She puts her sunglasses back on and folds her arms, literally tapping her neon pink running shoes on the tile impatiently. The customers behind her grow restless, leaving line to find a more efficient register, and I am having way too much fun.

“Yeah they’re two for ¥560,” Tsukishima mumbles when he finally returns.

“Oh, great! I’m glad we cleared that up. Thank you so much, Kei, I’ll fix this right away.” He nods and leaves, and I can feel the woman’s glare behind the dark plastic lenses as I finish scanning her things, the cherry on top of the customer harassment cake. “All done, ma’am! That’ll be ¥5882.”

She shoves a ¥10,000 bill at me, and I dole out her change, ripping off the receipt and handing it back with too big of a smile.

“Is there a supervisor I can speak with?” There it is.

“Yes, of course! And she loves hearing about how well we’re doing, but you don’t want to keep your daughter waiting any longer than you already have. It’s supposed to rain this evening.”

She lets out a particularly nasty sigh that sounds more like a growl, taking her bags and stomping off without a word. “Have a wonderful day!” I call behind her, waving and grinning like an idiot, the expression falling as soon as she’s out the door. “Good thing you bought so much mouthwash. Maybe it’ll help your rotten fucking attitude.”

“Language,” the next customer barks, pulling me back to my actual job. The man across the counter is much more pleasing to the eyes; sturdy shoulders and an unbuttoned shirt collar showing tanned skin above his loosened tie, but he wears the same sort of sour expression as the soccer mom. “There are kids in here.”

“Of course, sir. My apologies.” He nods, taking out his phone to check a message, and I begin to scan his items. At first I’m confused by the haul of children’s clothes and the rather large stuffed cat, but it all makes sense when I see pudgy fingers quietly sneak a chocolate bar onto the end of the conveyor belt. The little girl returns to the man’s side after deeming her operation a success, grabbing onto his pant leg and lifting her head to peek at me over the counter, barely able to see on her tiptoes.

“Is this for you?” I ask, lifting up the cat and making one of the pink paws wave at her. She nods, and I scan the tag, handing it over the counter for her to hold. “Does she have a name?”

“Uhhh,” she answers, hugging the animal to her chest as she thinks. “Miss Kitty. She’s a princess.”

“Very clever,” I smile, scanning a pile of skirts as I speak. “She must be very important. Does she have a prince?”

“Noooo,” she laughs, sticking out her tongue. “Boys are icky.”

“Oh, I see,” I chuckle, watching the little girl attach her hand back to the man’s pant leg as he puts his phone away, a look of concern in his eyes. “Aren’t they, Daddy? Boys are icky aren’t they?”

“What?” He asks, the crease in his brow lessening as whatever he was thinking about goes forgotten so he can pay attention to his daughter. “What do you mean? I’m a boy. Do you think I’m icky?”

“You’re not a boy, you’re my _Dad_ ,” she answers, looking at him like its common knowledge.

“Oh, okay. Well then, what about him?” He asks, pointing at me. “Is he icky?”

“The ickiest,” she nods.

“Yeah. I think so too.”

“What? You don’t even know me!” I pout, watching the way he man tries to suppress an amused smile and succeeding, the twitch of his lips barely discernible. “That’s just plain rude and I don’t think Miss Kitty would approve.”

“All boys are icky except dads. I don’t make the rules,” she shrugs, and I look her straight in the eyes as I scan her candy bar and drop it behind the bag turnstile into the plastic trash bin. I’ve never seen a child look so betrayed.

“Cute kid,” I smirk, turning away from her and back to the man as she tries to process how to tell on me without revealing that she snuck the candy in the first place. “I have a nephew just about her age. They sure are a handful.”

“That’s an understatement,” he mutters, eyeing the total on the screen and slipping a card from his wallet.

“Sorry, sir, our credit card system is down right now. It says right there,” I tell him, pointing at the paper taped to the machine. “Sorry for he inconvenience.”

He glares at the paper for a second as if it’s the culprit behind the faulty technology before putting the card back and counting his cash. “Shit, I only have a ¥5000 on me,” he swears (who needs to watch their language now?), looking through the bag for something to put back.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ve got ¥1000 in my pocket. You can pay me back later,” I say, swatting his hand away from the bag and reaching into my khakis. “We’ll call it an icky favor from the icky man.”

“That’s stupid. How do you expect me to pay you back…Tooru?” He asks, checking my nametag before folding his arms over his chest, the thin material bulging a bit, and waiting for my answer with one thick eyebrow raised.

“Easy. It’s this crazy concept called exchanging numbers; don’t know if you’ve heard of it. We can even set up a play date or something,” I quip, leaning against the counter with one hand on my hip.

He opens his mouth to retort just as his phone rings, the look of concern returning as he reads the caller ID. “Sorry, I really have to take this,” he mumbles, shoving the money in my hand along with a glossy paper card he pulls from the pocket of his slacks. “Thank you,” he adds, nodding as he answers the phone and grabs his daughter’s wrist and the bags all in his other hand.

I’ve grown so used to gathering information like this from strangers that it has almost become second nature, like a predator stalking prey even when hunger isn’t a factor of motivation. But sometimes the animal stalks something much too big or strong to be easily caught, lighting the fire of need in the pit of their stomach. The need to fight, the need to overpower, the need to _win_.

I can feel that fire as I flip the card over in my fingers, ignoring the people slowly trickling into the line for my register, my eyes moving over the text as if they could taste it.

**Iwaizumi Hajime**

**Sendai City Police Department**

**Detective**

Most people who share my, _interests_ , would run at the sight of law enforcement, but this feels like a challenge, and I am insanely competitive.

This will take careful planning; my new friend isn’t some girl I can pick up and strap to a table, but there is no doubt in my mind that this is a battle I will win. Welcome to the game, detective; I hope you enjoy losing.

***

When my break rolls around, too many clueless blabbering customers later, my salvation is short lived. I’m scrubbing my hands with that useless pink bathroom soap (honestly, what does that stuff clean?), getting rid of whatever has managed to crawl on my kin from touching so much money, when Kageyama pops his head through the door.

“Kiyoko’s looking for you.”

“I hope she finds me. I hate it when I get lost,” I mutter, shaking water from my hands and eyeing the empty paper towel dispenser. There is absolutely no way I’m using that air dryer, uninterested in having a warm torrent of accumulated germs lowing all over my already tentatively clean hands. “We’re out of paper towels in here, by the way.’

“That’s nice,” he says, rolling his eyes dismissively. “She wants you in her office before your break is over.”

“That gives me…seven minutes,” I answer, checking the tie on my phone. “I think I’ll grab a snack.”

“This is why no one likes you,” he mutters, shaking his head as he leaves, letting the heavy red door swing shut.

“That’s not true. Lots of people like me,” I reply, mostly to myself. Actually, _only_ to myself. “I’m a very likeable guy.

I stop by the vending machine in the break room on my way out, punching in the code for a peach tea and some pretzels, adding a pack of skittles as an afterthought. Kiyoko’s office door is open when I get there, her head bent over a stack of payroll check, snapping up when I toss the candy onto her desk.

“For you,” I smile, knowing she’s predisposed to be immune to my bullshit. “Because you’re so sweet and beautiful.”

“Sit down, Tooru,” she sighs, pushing the skittles to the edge of the desk with the tip of her pen.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, love?” I ask, plopping into the chair across from her and opening my snack.

“I received a call a little bit ago from a very angry woman saying you were rude and inefficient? Is there anything you want to tell me about this?” She puts one hand under her chin and looks at me with those hard, gray no-nonsense eyes.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” I reply, nibbling at the edges of a pretzel.

“She also mentioned something about mouthwash.”

“Oh! Her! Lovely lady. I’m sure she had some wonderful things to say.”

“Tooru,” she groans, rubbing at her temples. I am one big pressure headache to her, and yet, for some reason she hasn’t fired me yet. “You can’t harass the customers. They’re rude, I know, but it reflects poorly on me and I can’t let it slide.”

“This wasn’t a customer, Shimizu, she was a heathen. I swear, some of these people just enjoy testing my patience,” I tell her, sipping at my tea and thinking back over the encounter. “You know, I’m not always this charming. The customers should really be grateful.”

“ _You_ should be grateful they aren’t lined up outside my office door daily. And that I haven’t stuck you in the warehouse yet,” she says, and I can see the unmistakable want to fire me and unexplainable want to keep me around battling in her mind.

“Actually _you_ should be grateful they aren’t lining up here. It’s not too spacious,” I shrug, chewing on another pretzel. “As for the warehouse, maybe you should send me. I don’t mean to brag but I know my way around a box cutter.”

“Keep it up and I will,” she warns, stern but with no true meaning behind it. “Speaking of moving you, I’m putting you in the food court for the rest of your shift.”

“What? Why? Where’s Asahi?” The food court is the worst place in the entire store. I’ rather scrub toilets with Kageyama than work there.

“I sent him home. It’s his mom’s birthday and she’s flying in to visit but he was too afraid to request the day off,” he tells me, leaning back over the checks she was signing when I walked in.

“That’s not my fault. Come on, Shimizu, put someone else on it. What about Shouyou?”

“You know exactly why that’s a bad idea,” she answers, not looking up at me, her mind set. And she’s right; we don’t need another ‘Nacho Cheese Incident of ‘15’.

“Fine. Goddamnit. I’m taking my skittles back,” I grumble, my patience already growing thin at the thought of touching the food and watching the disgusting animals we call customers sit and shove it down their throats. I didn’t come here to be a zookeeper.

“Please do,” she nods, pushing them towards me. “And, Tooru? Be nicer, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” I mutter, walking out of her office and back down the hallway to the sales floor. “I’ll behave if they do.”

A familiar blonde head waits or me when I slip behind the counter, tying a black apron around my waist and clipping my nametag to the front. God forbid the customers not know my name when they call and complain.

“You got roped into this too?” I ask, eyeing the half empty popcorn machine and sighing. At least the store is slow right now.

“I volunteered,” Yachi answers, straightening her visor so it doesn’t tug on her ponytail. Not many people can pull off the side ponytail aesthetic but I must say she does a great job.

“Of course you did,” I say, rolling my eyes and reaching out to ruffle her hair she just fixed. “Wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Tooru!” She yells, slapping my hand away and taking off the crooked visor, glaring at me in that completely non-menacing way only she can manage.

“What?”

“Don’t patronize me,” she whines, pulling the hair tie out and letting what hair was in her ponytail fall to her shoulders.

“I’m not! You’re such a goody goody, I love you,” I tell her, and I mostly mean it.

“Well one of us has to be,” she mumbles, trying to add annoyance to her gaze but I watch her lips quiver as she fails to hold back her smile.

“That’ my girl.”

Some people embody the feeling of sunshine. Some people break through the dark clouds that consume the rest of us and wrap their flaming arms around out screaming souls to lift us up to the world they live in, and I hate them. My world is carefully constructed, meticulously pieced together like a patchwork quilt of pessimism and misplaced aggression. But somehow Yachi is a permanent resident here. She’s my best friend, my sidekick, my partner in crime. Literally; no matter how much she hates it and how little she deserves it.

We both lean against the back counter, watching the trickling stream of customers pass, some glancing our way and some continuing forward purposefully toward aisles of things they probably don’t need and expenses they don’t particularly want. Fascinating species, humans are, but much too prone to routine and naivety.

“How was your weekend?” Yachi asks, pulling me away from observing the wildlife.

I glance down at her sideways, a familiar look in her chocolate eyes. “True or false?”

She takes a deep breath before answering, shoulders slumping like she lost a battle with herself. “False.”

“I met a nice girl at the supermarket and we went out on Sunday. I took her to dinner and a movie and then we had some wine at my house. I had a great time but I’m not sure she liked me much. We weren’t very compatible, I guess. I doubt she’ll call me again.”

Yachi nods, accepting my words because those are the rule of our game, but her bottom lip quivers ever so slightly. She knows the truth, she always has. Growing up as the children of the only Catholic priests for miles in a small town dominated by Shinto culture it was hard not to be close, hard not to know every detail about each other. Daddy’s church was small, but he and Yachi’s father worked diligently to keep it running. There’s honor in a passion like that, o matter how worthless the beliefs as a whole.

“Hitoka?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, turning to wipe her eyes as if I won’t see it. I know it should probably make me feel bad. “What was her name?”

“True or false?”

“True.”

“I don’t remember.”

She nods again, angling her head so her visor blocks my view of her face.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask, watching a woman pull multiple carts out of the line near the doors to check the wheels and leaving them all scattered in the walkway.

“No, Tooru,” she sighs, looking up and giving me a strained smile. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you disappointed in me?” I don’t care, I never do, but her opinion is one of the few things that mean at least _something_ to me.

“A little.”

“Okay,” I mutter, fiddling with the edges of my apron. “Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation now.”

She chuckles lightly and I pull her into a quick hug, the warm scent of her shampoo welcoming instead of revolting as it wafts up into my nostrils. “Why do you put up with me, Hitoka?”

“Because I love you, Tooru. And you need me,” she mumbles against my chest, her small frame fitting there perfectly. “Well, you need _someone_ , and so far I’m your best option.

She steps away, her big brown eyes glistening, and I ruffle her hair again. “I just haven’t found a replacement for you yet. No one has responded to my wanted ads.”

She doesn’t have time to try and glare at me before a customer finally steps up to the counter and I shuffle off behind the soda machines to avoid the confrontation. She smiles widely as she helps the man, voice chipper an bright, and I start to think about her words. Do I need someone? I’ve always been content with being alone, with keeping m thoughts to myself, but I realize now that I never truly have. Yachi has always pulled information from me; from the first time I accidentally snapped the neck of a baby bird we found behind the church at eight years old, feeling it take its last breath in my dirty, thick fingered palms, she knew. Not only did she know, she never told. It’s s if she holds the burdens I don’t care to feel for me, her shoulders sagging from the weight of both of our emotions, both of our humanity.

Maybe I do need her. Maybe I am more dependent on her than I ever would’ve imagined. And yet, it’s a completely selfish need. She is my emotional storage unit. Do I honestly care about her? I believe I do, but it’s always so hard to tell. I don’t want to hurt her, at least. I guess that’s a good enough answer for now.

The man leaves the counter after Yachi hands him his paper drink cup, walking over towards where I stand but unable to see me behind the tall machines. There’s a loud beep before the sound of liquid hitting the hollow cup, wet and sloshing as air pushes up and over the rim. When he returns for his food Yachi pushes he bag of popcorn over the counter with a smile and a nod but the man is unimpressed.

“Your slushie machine is broken,” he tells her; tilting his cup so she can see the very blue, very non-slushie liquid inside.

“Actually I just put a new batch in so it’s still freezing,” she answers, shrinking a bit under his gaze, her shoulders tensing and head bowing.

“Why sell me a slushie when you don’t have slushies?” He gestures with his hands too much when he speaks, as if the movements would add meaning to his pathetic words.

“I’m sorry, sir, but-,”

“She didn’t sell you a slushie,” I interject, stepping up beside Yachi before actually forming the command in my mind, legs moving instinctually forward and arms gently pushing her to the side. “You ordered a sods, which as you can see by the menu is a whole different item. Also, the service light on the slushie machine tells you when they aren’t ready, and it even explains it right there for you, but you went ahead and ignored that. And if the light isn’t enough it beeps when you turn the handle, but I guess that just men you’re deaf _and_ dumb.”

There’s a long pause when I finish speaking as Yachi’s hand tightens on my arm and I watch the man’s face turn slowly from pink to red to purple. For a moment I think he’s going to ask to see a manager, but instead he empties the full cup in his hand on the counter and leaves, blue syrup running over the counter and off of both ends, making a steady splashing sound on the tiles below. Fantastic.

“Oh!” Yachi jumps back, the mess splattering an array of blue dot on her shoes and khakis. “Oh no, this is going to _stain_.”

“I think it’s an improvement,” I chuckle, red fading from my vision as I look down at the splashes of color across my own pant legs.

“Tooru! You can’t talk to the customers like that,” she chides, standing on her tiptoes to slap e on the shoulder and looking at me as sternly as she can muster. “You’re lucky he’s not going to Shimizu. She’s already upset with you. Also that’s not what deaf and dumb means.”

“Whatever, I got my point across. And what’s she going to do? She already put me in literal hell. Anything else is a blessing,” I shrug, grabbing a handful of napkins and handing them to her. “I didn’t like the way that guy was talking to you.”

“I was fine,” she huffs, pushing away my words with her thin hands. “But you need to be more careful. She could fire you.”

“Really? You promise? Because I’ll march over there and tell her myself right now.”

“Oh, stop it,” she sighs, looking at me like an overly flustered mother after hours of trying to wrestle her kids to bed. “Go get the mop.”

“No it’s alright, I’ll clean it up,” I say, shaking my head. “This is my fault.”

“I meant for you,” she replies, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow at me. “And make sure you get it all. We don’t want a sticky floor.”

“Oh no, of course we wouldn’t want that,” I mumble to myself as I head towards the back, stopping when I hear Yachi call my name behind me. “What?”

“Thank you,” she smiles, sunshine leaking out of the corners of her being, lighting up the small piece of myself I allow her to touch. “He _was_ kind of scary.”

“I’m kind of scary too,” I reply, winking before ducking through the doorway.

While I mop up the syrup mess my mind wanders, somehow landing on those nature documentaries everyone always thinks are so adorable when two seemingly incompatible wild animals become friends. Cats and rabbits, dogs and birds, a fox and a deer. Yachi and I are sort of like that, I think, but more…extreme. A lion and a gazelle, more like it. One built to kill, and one sleek and beautiful, living a life that is just begging to end in bloodshed.

By the time my shift end, multiple insufferable customers later, my mind I buzzing and my patience growing thin, my needs threatening to break through the weakened barrier. It’s like boiling water in a covered pot; always bubbling under the surface, rapidly splashing up against the lid, but once in a while the pressure builds, and heat escapes with a sizzle between the carefully constructed edges. And sometimes, I just remove the lid altogether. Just for a bit of fun.

I change out of my uniform quickly and head out, trying my best to avoid contact with anyone on the way. My hands shake when climb in my car and turn the key, stopping only when I take the wheel with a white knuckled grip. “Not tonight. You’ll be fine. Not tonight,” I whisper to myself. I don’t like choosing targets when I’m worked up. It always ends up messy, and I prefer enjoying the hunt rather than rushing to calm my nerves.

After a few deep breaths I start to pull out of the space, turning to navigate the hectic pedestrian filled aisles of the parking lot. I’m almost out when he red taillights of a sleek car grabs my eye, a pretty, dark haired woman in the driver seat checking her phone as she backs up. Sometimes opportunities just fall in your lap, and it would be rude to turn them down.

I speed up a little, putting my car just behind the slowly moving Lexus, and smile as the back end bumps right into the side of my fender as planned. The woman’s head snaps up from her phone, wide and terrified eyes reflecting at me from the side mirror. Funny, she doesn’t know the true feeling of terror yet. I put on my best surprised and sympathetic expression before climbing out of the car, slipping m hands in my back pockets for just the right amount of unthreatening casualty.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?” Words fly from the woman’s mouth as she scrambles out of her car, looking me over with worry. “I didn’t see you behind me.”

“I’m completely fine,” I smile, reassuring her with a nod before pointing my thumb at the not at all large dent in my car. “Can’t say the same for him, though.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes again, unzipping her purse and fishing out her wallet and an insurance card. “Do you want to trade information? I have great coverage I’m sure they can get that fixe or you no problem.”

“Hopefully,” I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck and taking a step forward, getting closer without her really noticing.”My insurance company probably hates me by now. I’m such a klutz when it comes to driving.”

She giggles, most of the tension and ear releasing from her muscles, and she even reaches out to gently push my shoulder as she speaks. “No don’t you worry at all this was completely my fault.”

“They probably won’t believe me even if I told them that,” I tell her, making sure to smile as much as I can without it seeming unusual. I know I’ve got her when she looks down and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Fish are better at avoiding hooks than this. “Have you had dinner yet? How about we grab a bite while we report the damage?”

She looks as if she’s going to argue for a moment, lifting her phone to check the time and making a face, but bad judgment weighs out. “Sure, here’s a great place just down the street.”

“Great! Just lead the way,” I answer, extending my hand before she gets back in her car. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Akane,” she answers, taking my hand; her skin warm and soft against mine. “And you?”

“Tooru. My name is Oikawa Tooru.”

Professional worst nightmare.   


	2. Ghosts - Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than I meant it to, but a few more weeks and I'll be done with finals and I'll have way more time to update, so bear with me :)
> 
> I don't want to dissect everything today  
> I don't mean to pick you apart you see  
> But I can't help it  
> There I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off  
> Slap me with a splintered ruler  
> And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn't there already  
> If only I could hunt the hunter
> 
> -Alanis Morissette

There’s a difference between believing in ghosts and knowing them. Not glowing specters or angry spirits, but real people with no way to rest. I believe in ghosts, wholeheartedly, but instead of white sheets they live on stiff white pages of text, details of crimes unproven, shoved in boxes and stacked like coffins along cold metal shelves. Entire lives, entire stories, stacked and forgotten, failed by the system they needed so badly to place their hope in. It makes me sick; like disappointment and anger and a _need_ to do better for them all coursing through my veins at once, thick and incessant.

“How’d I know I’d find you down here?” Akaashi pops his head around the corner, sighing when he sees me with the lid off of a box and a stack of papers spread out on the table. “You can’t sit down here and read cold cases all day, Iwaizumi. You have a real job to do.”

“These only exist because someone else didn’t do _their_ job,” I say, gruffer than I meant to, arranging the papers back neatly where I found them. “What if there’s something that got overlooked? Something that could close the case?”

“Most of those are decades old. There probably isn’t anyone left to convict anyway. You can’t arrest a dead person,” he answers, shaking his head, face softly disapproving as usual. “Come on, the debriefing is starting. Get that put away and head up.”

“Yes sir,” I reply, placing the lid back on the box I’d been reading, air gently blowing across my fingertips as it escapes the cardboard cube.

The ghosts follow me, each new case I read, each new grieving family and undeserving victim attaching to me like a set of Russian dolls, wrapped around each other and nestled deep inside my mind. You could call it obsessive, the way I take in the information, constantly searching for the answers to questions no one else seems to want to ask, but I call it passion. A passion to put to rest those who were wronged twice by the world they belonged to.

The “conference room”, as we call it at the station, is little more than an empty glass-walled office with school desks arranged around a whiteboard, but it serves its purpose. Everyone in my department is already seated when I walk in, Suga up at the front with an expo pen in hand and Akaashi shooting me a pointed look as I take a seat. It’s hard to tell his emotions sometimes, anger and pride and approval all sort of taking the same shape in his heavy lidded eyes, but years of practice have made me a pro at understanding his expressions.

Suga starts to debrief us all on the smaller open cases we’ve been working on, making a checklist of what is finished and what still needs to be done for Bokuto and Noya to relay to the downstairs department later before landing on our current biggest case, a missing girl whose empty car was found behind a restaurant downtown, and turning to Akaashi, Kuroo, and I.

“Let’s start with what you guys got from interviews today. Anything important?” He sticks the end of the pen between his teeth and leans against one of the tables near the front.

“Well, we talked to some of the staff that was working the night she disappeared but none of them could recall her face. Too many customers between then and now. One waiter said he thought he might recognize her but he couldn’t remember anything about who she was with or what she was wearing.” Kuroo reads from his notebook, waiting for Suga to finish scribbling on the board before motioning for me to continue.

“We got a print out of any payments made by credit card for tech lab to try and match to her name but there’s no way to figure out who she was with by that. The restaurant doesn’t have security footage in the dining room but they gave us the footage from behind the kitchen. Who knows, she might show up on it,” I tell him, thinking back to the way the restaurant staff seemed so eager to help but had no real information to share with us.

“Alright, good. Keiji?” Did you learn anything from her family?”

Kuroo and I sit back down, chairs creaking at different times. We don’t have the partner synchronization that Akaashi and I had yet, but we still work great together. It’s still weird thinking of Akaashi as a Sergeant instead of my partner even though his promotion was over a month ago.

“The victim lives alone but I visited her parents in town who didn’t have any idea about who she could have been with or where she was planning on going that night. They gave me the names of some of her friends and I got to two of them today, but neither of them knew anything important other than she claimed not to like that particular restaurant in the past. I’ll track down the others tomorrow.” Suga nods and Akaashi sits back down.

“Alright. That’s pretty good for one day. We have a few things to work with now. Keiji, you’re already set for tomorrow. Hajime and Tetsurou, I want you two to take that credit card information as soon as it comes back from tech and track her purchases from the day she went missing until now. Follow her movements that day and check out every place she might have gone to. Someone somewhere has to know _something_ about this girl,” Suga tells us, commanding but calm. He’s more like a parent than a lieutenant but it seems to work for us. We’re not the most conventional group, but we’re cohesive, and usually that’s the most important aspect of an investigation.

“Okay,” Suga claps, stopping me as I start to stand. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, we can move on to the next order of business.”

The way Bokuto squirms in his seat next to Akaashi as Kuroo leans over to fist bump him leads me to believe the ‘next order of business’ isn’t a case at all; it’s something much worse.

“Suga what is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. He just shrugs, and no one else betrays information on their faces, my only clue being the empty seat beside Noya.

“Where’s Tanaka?”

“Boom, bitches!” As if on cue Tanaka bursts through the conference room doors, the glass rattling where he kicked it, hands full with a massive teal sheet cake.

“Ryuu, it’s huge!” Noya yells, turned backward in his seat and stretching to get a better view.

“I got the biggest one they had,” he replies, a smug smile on his face as Akaashi clears off a table to set it on.

“Oh no. No, no, no we have work to do,” I shake my head, standing again to walk out but Kuroo pulls me back down in my chair and scoots it up to the table with a terrible metal to tile scraping sound.

“This is happening,” Bokuto laughs, dropping a hand on my shoulder and grinning. “Just enjoy it.”

“I told them you wouldn’t like it,” Akaashi shrugs, leaning against the table across from me and eyeing the cake. “It was Suga’s idea, but the writing was mine.”

A smirk hints just at the corners of his mouth as I look down at the white icing on top of the cake. ‘Happy Birthday Detective Hardass’.

“Funny,” I deadpan, making everyone else chuckle. That’s probably the point of birthdays; to make everyone else happy while the person being celebrated is miserable.

Kuroo and Bokuto start shoving candles into the cake, looking pleased with themselves when the entire top is covered with too many candles to count. When Akaashi finishes lighting them all, waving Noya away from trying to swipe at the lighter, the entire room seems to glow with firelight.

Everyone smiles at me for a second, huddling and straining to get a good look at my face. “I swear to God if you guys start singing-,”

“Happy Birthday to you!”

“Un-fucking-believable.” I can almost feel every individual blood cell that travels up to my cheeks, spreading out warmth and betraying the stoic glare on my face. Twenty seconds of birthday song time is about twenty minutes of real time, each one more agonizing that the next.

“So how old are you now, gramps?’ Bokuto asks, laughing as he slaps me on the back and hops up onto the table.

“Bo, we’re the same age,” I tell him, confusion crossing his gaze.

“But you’re a higher rank than me.”

“That’s because I’m better at my job.”

“Get off the table,” Akaashi says, holding a knife out to me. “Do you want to cut it?”

“Knock yourself out,” I reply, standing up and moving away before everyone starts to crowd the table to get a slice. Suga stands back near the whiteboard, arms crossed and watching with a content smile on his face.

“Shouldn’t we be working?” I ask as I step up next to him, leaning back against the glass wall. He sighs before answering, shoulders rising and falling as the air escapes and a helpless kind of sadness flashes in his eyes. “We have people searching near her home and work, and another group checking common body dropping spots in the area. Until something comes up the best we can do is keep talking to people. There just isn’t much to go on with these cases without a body. So for now you should just have a little fun for once.”

“You’re talking as if she’s dead,” I say, studying his features for the information he isn’t sharing.

“She might be,” he shrugs, eyes downcast and stance limp.

“We don’t know that-,”

“No. You’re right, we don’t. And God knows I hope she isn’t,” he interrupts, trying to smile but it turns out flat and plastic. “But I’ve seen a lot of cases just like this. Young person gone, no one knows where they were going or why, car shows up in a parking lot somewhere and they’re never seen again. It’s like they suddenly decided to change their plans one day and never came back. It’s awful, and it’s hard to solve, but trends are trends, and this definitely fits the bill.”

I don’t respond for a few minutes, letting the information sink in, barely even noticing when Kuroo hands us both paper plates of cake. I take a few bites, but it’s nothing more than a texture in my mouth as the bitter taste of an unsolved crime overpowers it.

“There must be someone else involved,” I say, pulling Suga’s attention away from the eating contest Noya and Tanaka started in the back of the room.

“Hmm?”

“Like, a person, a single person who comes along and takes them somewhere, or convinces them to come with them or, I don’t know, Suga, _something_.” My mind is racing and my words struggle to keep up but I know I’m onto something. “You said it’s as if they changed their plans and never came back, but people don’t just up and leave like that and leave their cars and everything they own behind. At least not enough to be called a trend. What if someone came along and changed their mind for them?”

“The same person?”

“Maybe. Who knows.”

“Hajime, you’re talking about a serial killer,” he shakes his head, carefully taking another bite of cake as if to give himself a chance to think before continuing. “Serial killers leave trails, bodies for us to find and signatures so we know it’s them. That’s a lot bigger than a few missing persons reports.”

“It’s not like there’s rules for it,” I say, my voice insistent. “Maybe they do something with the bodies, I don’t know, I’m just saying maybe we’re focusing on the wrong thing.”

“I just think it’s a bit farfetched,” he sighs, giving me a look that oddly resembles pity. “Listen; take the rest of the day off. You need it, alright?”

He reaches out to pat my shoulder but I push it away. “I don’t need to go home, Suga, I need to do my fucking job.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted by my phone ringing loudly in my pocket. I almost ignore it, focused on getting my point across, but I know who it is and how much shit I’ll get for not answering.

“I have to take this,” I mumble, pulling it from my pocket and lifting it to my ear as I slip out of the conference room. “Hello?”

“Hey, I know its Tuesday, and I know you’re probably busy, but my boss just called a meeting that I can’t get out of. I need you to pick Hikari up from school and drop her off with my mom.” Her voice is muffled like she has a hand cupped over the receiver.

“Narumi,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache start to form at the front of my skull. “I’m at work. How long is your meeting?”

“I’m not sure but it’s already past three and we can’t be lake picking her up any more or the principal will have to call me again,” she says, an annoyance to her tone. It’s my fault she gets calls from the school. I’m the one who’s always late picking our daughter up. “Listen, can you do it or not? I have to go so I need to know if I have to call someone else.”

“No, it’s fine. I can go.”

“Thank you, Hajime.”

“Why don’t I just bring her home with me? It’s a shorter drive for you to pick her up on your way home than going all the way to your mom’s,” I ask, already knowing how she’ll react.

“Hajime,” she huffs, and I can envision the exact look on her face; the same one she’d have when I came home from work at 4am without calling to tell her where I was. “We’ve talked about this. It’s hard enough on her already to get used to the schedule without us not following it. It’s not your day to have her.”

“Narumi, she’s my daughter too,” I retort, feeling anger in the base of my throat. “Divorce or not I’m still her father. Schedules be damned I can see her if I want to.”

“You’re right. You will see her, and then you’ll drop her off,” she replies, voice even and icy. She has always met my temper with cold indifference. Maybe that’s why we didn’t work. Well, one of the reasons. Fire and ice just aren’t compatible. “My meeting is starting, I have to go.”

The line goes dead and I clench my fist around the phone, biting back an outburst. The door opens beside me and Akaashi slips put, leaning against the wall next to me. He probably watched the whole thing through the glass conference room walls.

“I thought she only called to yell at you on the weekends,” he says, looking off towards the elevator but still giving me his full attention. Most of the people we work with know about my divorce, but he knows the most. We were still partners through the worst of it.

“She needs me to pick Hikari up from school. She has a meeting and can’t make it.” My fingers start to ache where I still have them clenched on the phone. The bones creak when I loosen my grip and slip it back in my pocket.

“So you get to see her tonight? That’s good,” he nods, ignoring the sour look on my face. Probably because I almost always have a sour look on my face. “You should bring her by. We’ll definitely have some cake leftover. We can fill her up on sugar before Narumi picks her up.”

“I’m not allowed.”

“Not _allowed_?” His eyebrows fly up, and I’m comforted to know I’m not the only one who finds it ridiculous.

“Narumi wants us to stick to the custody schedule. I get Friday, Saturday, and Sunday,” I shrug, letting the tension leave my shoulders. Akaashi has always had a weird way of calming me down. “It’s Tuesday. I have to drop her off with her grandma.”

“The one that despises you and tells Hikari that you’re an awful father?” He asks, voice even.

“Yeah, that one,” I answer, standing up straight and rubbing my eyes. “I guess I should go. Can you do me a favor?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell Suga I decided to take his offer after all, and I’ll be in late tomorrow because I’m gonna go talk to the missing girl’s landlord before coming in.”

He narrows his eyes a bit, wondering what I’m up to, but nods anyway. “Sure thing. Tell Hikari hello for me. And happy birthday.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave his words away, grabbing my bag from my desk and heading towards the elevator. “See you tomorrow, Keiji.”

He nods again before heading back into the conference room, and I can see Bokuto almost tackle him just as the elevator doors close, and I’m alone again. Except I’m never really alone, the ghosts showing their faces again once its quiet. And now a new name is added to the list, a new ghost of a faceless missing girl follows me, haunting in all senses of the word. They do not stay behind when I cross the threshold and enter into the world outside of crimes and unsolved mysteries, they continue with me, and I vow to bring them peace.

***

The school bell rings in harmony with the squeal of my breaks on the asphalt parking lot. Parents line up outside the front gate watching the students file out, waiting for their son or daughter, niece or nephew. The kids flow out in a mismatched stream of bouncing heads, varying shapes and sizes, laughter and plans for after school antics mixing and rising in the warm summer air.

“Daddy!”

A tiny figure slams into my legs before I even see her, arms wrapping around my knees and beaming face looking up and meeting mine. “Look what I made!”

She drops her bag from her shoulder onto the cement and sticks one short arm inside, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she blindly searches through what sounds like a mess of crumpled paper.

“Do you need some help?” I ask, bending down so I’m eye level with her.

“Nope! Here it is!” One hard tug and she pulls out a wrinkled construction paper card and hands it to me. “It’s for you! Mommy said it was your birthday today. I was going to give it to you Friday but you’re here!”

She beams as I take the card from her, so much smaller in my hands than in hers, and open it. “You made this all by yourself?” Inside is a crayon drawing of what I assume is the two of us; my figure made of squares and rectangles in dark colors, the look on my face as pointed as the thick crayon tip could make it, and her figure made of pink and purple triangles, hair curling in elegant spirals at her sides. The message at the top is misspelled and uneven, but I love every letter.

“Yeah! I stayed in during recess to finish it. I made these too!” She tells me, fishing in her bag again and pulling out two more glitter covered pieces of paper, handing the blue one to me and keeping the pink one for herself. “It’s a crown!”

She unfolds hers and shoves it on her head, glitter falling inter her dark hair and leaving fiery trails of pink in the sunlight. I follow suit, placing the glittery blue mess on my head as far as it will go and smiling at her, feeling the stray glitter tickling my scalp. “It’s exactly what I wanted, how did you know? Did you read my mind?”

“Don’t be silly, daddy,” she giggles, closing her bag and lifting it back onto her shoulders. “Mind reading isn’t real.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” I say, standing and lifting her up before turning to walk back to the car, her arms clinging tightly around my neck. “Then you must have read my diary.”

She dissolves into giggles again, wiggling around in my arms. “No, you _told_ me,” she says, rolling her eyes when she stops laughing. “You told me last weekend that you wanted to be a prince when you grew up, but you’re already a grown up so I made you a crown.”

“Oh, I see,” I reply, setting her down and opening the car door so she can crawl inside. “Well, it’s perfect and I love it and I’m going to wear it all the time so I can tell everybody what to do.”

“But you already do that anyway. Akaashi told me,” she smirks, eyeing me through the rearview mirror as I start the car.

“I’m sure he did,” I mumble.

It’s a short drive to Hikari’s grandma’s house from the school, and she tells me about the rest of her day. What she had for lunch, who she played with, what they played, what book they read in class. Her voice fills the space of the car, babbling excitedly about kindergarten shenanigans, and it soothes me.

“Daddy can we get a tree house?” She asks, suddenly switching gears from her story about broken crayons to voice whatever thought popped into her head. “My friend told me his dad built him a tree house and he said is so much fun like Tarzan.”

“Hmm. Did you ask mommy? What did she say?”

Her face turns sour, cheeks puffing out and arms crossing over her chest. “She said it’s too dangerous and that there’s no trees to build one. But there’s trees everywhere!” She yells, throwing her hands up.

“Hikari, the trees at mommy’s house aren’t her trees. They’re part of the apartment complex,” I explain, watching the information bounce around in her young brain. She still isn’t used to the rules associated with apartments. I had planned to give Narumi our house after the divorce, but she insisted that she wanted to move somewhere closer to her work anyway, so I was left with too many empty rooms and echoing silence. “If you don’t tell mommy I’ll try to build one in the big tree at home, okay?”

“Really!?”

“Yup. You can play Tarzan all you want.” On the weekends.

“Thank you, Daddy!” She squeals, kicking her legs in excitement.

I have no idea how to build a tree house, haven’t even touched a hammer or nails since high school shop class, but I’ve never been good at telling Hikari no. Akaashi once told me that it’s as if all of the softness I’ve never shown somehow manifested and directed itself only towards her. Narumi says I spoil her too much.

Her mood drops a bit when we pull up to the curb outside her grandma’ house, legs stopping their frantic motion and tiny mouth halting its excited babble. “You alright, princess?”

“Mhmm,” she nods, looking down as she waits for me to come around and unbuckle her car seat. “When is mommy coming to get me?”

“She’ll be here soon,” I tell her, hoping it’s true. “She said her meeting wouldn’t take very long.”

She crawls over the seats and hops onto the sidewalk, dragging her bag behind her, looking up at the house before turning to me. “I wish I could go home with you, Daddy. I don’t like Grandma’s house very much.”

“I know, baby,” I say, kneeling down to talk to her, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. “But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do, and we have to act tough to get through it.”

“I am tough.”

“Of course you are. You’re the toughest person I know,” I smirk, a small smile returning to her face before I pull her into a hug. “Be good for Grandma and when you come over this weekend I’ll have your tree house set up.”

“Okay,” she sighs, pulling away from me and lifting her bag back on her shoulder; too much heaviness in her young eyes. “Bye, Daddy. Happy Birthday.”

“See you later, princess.”

The front door opens as she makes her way up the sidewalk, an older version of my ex-wife stepping out on the porch, those same hard green eyes narrowed at me under hair that has become more gray than brown. I wave, but she doesn’t return the favor, not that I expected her to. I wonder if she knows why she hates me, if there’s a reason at all, or if it’s just general distaste for the guy divorcing her daughter. No matter the reason, I’m sure part of it is that she still hasn’t forgiven me for Hikari looking nothing like Narumi.

They both disappear into the house as I pull away and the heaviness of silence in the car settles in the pit of my stomach. Without child babble filling the space my ghosts come out, my mind wandering back to their restless memories. It seems I end up here more often than not lately, the problems of the dead easier to handle than my own.

The clock on the radio says 3:42pm, and the sun is still high and hot in the sky. It’s odd; I’m not used to being out at this time of day without somewhere to go or something to do. I don’t even know when the last day I took time off was. There’s all these empty hours, devoid of obligation or social time, and I have no idea what to do with them, like a puppy finally catching it’s tail. Before I know it I’m pulling into the parking lot of a hardware store.

The store is massive, like a warehouse of deconstructed homes; doors hanging from the ceiling, sinks lined like aisles of chrome, tile and carpet stacked in a way that I’m sure is organized even if I don’t understand it. Bits and pieces of rooms scattered throughout the store and piled on shelves much too high for anyone to actually reach, all the way down to the walls themselves. Pallets of wooden planks and beams tower somewhere in the corner. I guess that’s where I’m headed.

The lumber section is deserted, no employees to point me in the right direction or fellow customers to share in my confusions at the towering shelves of decimated trees. No one; except a pair of shoes visible through the shelves dividing the aisles and the soft sound of whistling bouncing off the slick floors, seemingly the only other soul in this wooden ghost town. So I head over.

I open my mouth to say something as I round the corner, but I stop when I realize I sort of recognize that mop of carefully mussed brown hair and content smile of someone who isn’t content at all, except its odd seeing it directed at a power saw rather than never ending lines of disgruntled shoppers. He runs his fingers over the sides of the blade, testing the heft of the tool in his hands as the smile forms into something different. Something _real._

I clear my throat before speaking, his head whipping up and turning my way almost too quickly. “Hey, you’re-,”

“Mister Detective!” He beams, letting the arms holding the saw fall to his side, swinging slowly. “What a coincidence.’

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble, looking for anything I can read in his eyes to make small talk just a bit easier and finding nothing. “I was actually hoping you were an employee.”

“You never called me,” he pouts, completely ignoring me. “I waited for hours by the phone for nothing.”

I half expect him to press the back of his hand against his head but, thankfully, he refrains. “Oh, shit, I forgot about that,” I tell him, pulling out my wallet and the money I owe him. I’m pretty sure _I’m_ the one who gave him _my_ number, but I don’t say anything.

“You forgot about me?” He feigns shock, mouth forming a delicate gasp, and I can feel my headache deepening. There’s something off about this guy, something unreadable. A mask that seems so realistic you’re scared to tug on the edges.

“Slipped my mind I guess,” I deadpan, handing the money to him. “You must just be forgettable.” His little gasp this time is real, and yet there are still no fissures in that invisible mask.

“That’s the second time you’ve insulted me and you don’t even know me,” he huffs, peering around me and down the aisle. “What’s next? Is your little girl going to pop out and call me gross again?”

“I believe she called you icky,” I reply, shrugging. “But no, she isn’t here.”

“I see,” he hums, a glint in his eyes that I’m not particularly fond of. “So what brings you here on this fine afternoon, Mister Detective, sir?”

“Don’t call me that,” I bark, or, at least try to bark. It comes out more like a tired plea. “You can just call me Iwaizumi.”

“How about Iwa?”

“No.”

“How about Hajime?”

“No.”

“How about-,”

“No!”

“Alright, alright, no need to yell,” he smiles, extending his hand that isn’t holding the saw. “You can call me Oikawa. Or Tooru. Or ‘that-super-handsome-totally-not-icky-guy’. Take your pick.’

“I think I’ll stick to Oikawa,” I say, shaking his hand. Something stirs in me, a ghost somewhere deep down, or maybe just a forgotten memory of a passing mention. Oikawa. There’s something familiar, a taste on the tip of my tongue that I can’t name.

“Really? I thought the third option was pretty compelling,” he trills, turning his head so his hair bounces. He’s really good at this; this game of social cues we call small talk.

“Anyway, to answer your question,” I start, ignoring what I’m sure he thought of as a good effort. “I’m buying lumber for a tree house. And probably whatever else goes along with building it. I was looking for an employee but I’m not sure if anyone actually works here or not.”

“A tree house!?” He asks, heaving the power saw back onto the shelf and clapping his hands together. “That’s exciting! For the little princess?”

“Yeah. I’m supposed to have it done by Saturday so I guess I should get started,” I answer, sighing at the thought of how much work I’ve gotten myself into. “Nice seeing you.” Sort of.

I star to turn back the way I came but Oikawa follows me, and I can hear that slick smile in his voice when he speaks. “The thing we do for our kids, am I right?”

“Do you have kids?” I ask, not turning back around.

“No. But I do have a cat, and let me tell you if she asked her for a tree house you bet your ass I’d be out there building one right now.”

“I’m not sure cat equates to child in any sense,” I mutter, looking back down the aisle and practically praying I’ll see an employee.

“You look so lost,” he chuckles, stepping past me to lean against a shelf and smirk. I have no idea what he’s trying to accomplish but all he’s managing is to make me tired. “Need some help?”

“Not from you.”

“Nonsense! Any help is good help, and you look like you really need it,” he pats my shoulder and I just stand still, realizing I can’t get rid of him. He’s like gum on the bottom of your shoe, getting more stuck as you try to remove it. “It really is lucky you found me when you did.”

“I think we have different definitions of the word lucky.”

“Do you have a truck? Because my car has one of those thingies to strap stuff to the roof if you need it,” he says, waving his hand around and scrunching his nose upon the word ‘thingies’.

“I didn’t even think of fitting the wood in my car,” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck before I realize what I’m saying. “Wait, you don’t think you’re coming to my house do you?”

“Of course,” he answers, turning away from the stacks of wood to fix me with a doe-eyed gaze. “I’m coming to help! You’re gonna need a hammer and a ton of nails, too. I know where those are.”

He spins on his heel to head in a different direction and I follow behind. “I don’t need any help and you aren’t coming to my house. Hey!” I reach out and grab his arm, turning him so he’ll listen to me, but he just smiles and clicks his tongue.

“Listen, Mister Detective,” he starts, a thickness to his voice that I haven’ heard yet, like he’s speaking from the base of his throat. “You have no idea what you’re doing, and admittedly I don’t either, but you can use all the help you can get, and I am graciously offering mine. Now, you look like a simple framing hammer kind of guy to me. I know just the thing.”

The husk in his voice is gone almost as immediately as it came, disappearing entirely by the time he spins again and practically skips to the aisle he’ looking for, leaving me frozen where I stand. There was something in his eyes for half a second, almost too quick to see, but I saw it. It felt like an entirely different person, a pair of fists beating against the dark window of his irises, showing through the glass for a fraction of a second.

There is definitely something odd about this man with the familiar name and the calculating mind, something I’m not sure I want to find out about. Something that, judging by the tug in the pit of my stomach when his voice went deep and his eyes turned dark, that I should stay far far away from. But he’s hell bent on following me home, and I have never been good and knowing what’s best for me.

***

 Oikawa managed to find some article about tree houses on his phone and figured out what size planks we’ll need and what type of nails. We had the wood strapped to the roof of his car in no time, and I’d never admit it but I know I’d still be in there staring hopelessly up at the shelves if I hadn’t found him.

He got quiet when we finished tying down the load, saying he had to run home for something that would take ‘ten minutes tops’, so I gave him the address and headed to my house, wondering why on earth I was trusting this weird man I barely knew, but I did. Or…I do, which is extremely stupid.

I hear a car door slam in the driveway just as I step out of the shower, almost ten minutes on the dot from when I got home, and I rush to pull on my old jeans and a faded black t-shirt before he rings the doorbell. The smell of bleach hits me as I open the door, a very relaxed looking Oikawa standing on the doorstep. Did he go home to clean something? Maybe he’s an obsessive compulsive neat freak. Who knows; there seems to be way too many layers to this guy for anyone to decipher. “Hey.”

“You’re all wet,” he answers, and I realize I didn’t dry my hair, water dripping down the side of my neck and soaking into the shoulders of my shirt.

“Ran out of time,” I mumble, not meeting his eyes. I got into the shower to rinse off the sweat from the day, but somewhere along the way, with the thought of husky voices and flashing lies behind earthy glass mixing with the hot water and steam and summer running off of my skin, I got distracted, and the smug smile I can see through my peripheral tells me he can read it all on my face. “I’ll open the gate so you can bring the lumber in the yard.”

I grab the keys from the hook next to the door and squeeze past him onto the porch, heading deliberately to the side gate and willing my face to stop burning. It’s not like I’m attracted to him or anything, he’s not ugly, obviously, but I don’t even know him and frankly I find him odd, but sometimes your mind just wanders. Whatever.

We untie the straps from the roof of his car and carry the wood into the yard, piling it at the base of the largest tree. It’s already around five, the sun low but still hot and making new sweat mingle with the residual water on my neck and drip down my back, but  I know I won’t get another chance to work on this before the weekend.

“So,” he claps his hands and pulls out his phone, looking up the article he found in the hardware store. “Where do you want to start?”

“Aren’t you the one with the instructions?”

“Alight, alright, no need to get grumpy this is a fun time,” he says, flashing a quick smile for good measure. “By the way, you know you’re supposed to have a permit for this, right?”

Shit. I didn’t even think of that. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of that later,” I mumble, waving his words away with fake nonchalance. “Just get to the building part.

“Now isn’t this exciting. Breaking the law with a police officer,” he laughs, pretending to shudder excitedly. I’m not sure how much I trust myself not to punch him in the next few hours.

“Listen, shut the fuck up and figure out what we’re supposed to do. I’m gonna grab a ladder.”

“Grab a saw too. You’re gonna have to trim these boards to two and a half meters,” he calls after me, phone pulled up to his face.

“I don’t think I have a saw,” I tell him, opening up the garden shed I know is almost empty. I’ve never had much time for yard work or anything that requires tools.

“Don’t worry I have one,” he replies, turning to walk back to his car. He returns just as I set the ladder up against the trunk of the tree, a power saw in his hands, but not the one he’d been playing with in the store.

“You just keep that thing in your car?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought you might need her,” he shrugs, handing it over, and I’m hit again by the strong smell of bleach. I don’t have a chance to ask about it before he starts snapping out orders on where to cut and what to nail, a sudden determination falling on his face and replacing the playful plasticity that was there before.

Surprisingly, we make a good team, him as the brains and me as the brawn, and I’m starting to drill the baseboards into the tree trunk before his seriousness begins to fade again.

“You really know your way around power tools,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice even if I can’t see it. Is this guy honestly trying to come on to me right now? Does he have no sense of human decency? Or am I just overanalyzing things again? Honestly, both are possible.

“Hand me another board,” I say, ignoring him. He pouts purposefully when I turn, but doesn’t make another comment as I take the board and start drilling it into the base.

“So,” he starts again after the silence starts to feel awkward. For him, at least. I can deal with silence. “Where’s the little princess today? I was expecting her to be out here.”

“With her mother,” I mutter, mentally begging him not to ask any more questions.

“Running errands, or…?” Of course, that was wishful thinking.

“At her apartment.”

“Oh? I had no idea. So what did you do, Mister Detective?”

“Excuse me?”

“I just figure it couldn’t have anything to do with her not being attracted to you, I mean, look at you,” he winks, making a vague gesture towards where I stand on the ladder and completely ignoring the anger that starts to seethe under my skin. “So one of you must have done something to mess it up.”

“We were married and now we aren’t. End of story,” I spit, every word deliberate as it leaves my mouth and I try not to let my temper escalate. “Hand me another board.”

“Okiedokie,” he trills, unaffected by my obvious irritation. If I didn’t need his help, which I’ll never admit to, I’d tell him to fuck off immediately.

He waits for me to calm down before speaking again, the sky starting to turn to orange and my focus absorbing my anger.

“You’re strange,” he says, flopping down on the grass and watching me hammer in the last of the flat floorboards.

“Really. Do tell,” I deadpan, wiping away the sweat beading on my nose.

“You’re hard to read,” he starts, a sort of dreamy distance to the way he speaks. “But, you’re also such an open book.”

“What the fuk are you talking about? You don’t even know me,” I glance down but he doesn’t look at me, eyes fixed just past me, gaze trailing into the fading lilac of the sky.

“Like right now. You’re lashing out because it’s hot and you’re tired, and you’re still trying to figure out why you let me come here and if it was a good idea. You won’t laugh at my jokes because you don’t want to be friends, really. Probably because you don’t think they’re worth the effort they take to make.”

“I don’t laugh at your jokes because they aren’t funny,” I reply, shifting on the ladder. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t uncomfortable, which is odd coming from someone whose job it is to read other people.

“But with other things, like your failed marriage, you completely close up. I have no idea what you were thinking when I asked about it, even though I pushed you,” he sighs, turning to me with a crease in his eyebrows. “It’s not fair.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I set the hammer down on the finished tree house floor and climb up onto it, stomping around a bit to check the sturdiness before sitting on the edge and looking down.

“I like to think out loud, and you’re…interesting,” he shrugs, sitting up on the grass and pulling his knees to his chest.

I don’t know how to reply, or how to hide the fact that I feel like he just picked me clean to the bone and pulled out all of my tells along the way. We’ve spoken for a few hours and he seems to already see the things about me I still haven’t learned about myself.

“Well, you’re annoying, so think quieter. And farther away from me,” I say, standing up and making my way back down the ladder. “I’m probably going to have to call a contractor to finish this. It’s almost dark and I doubt we can get the whole thing done tonight. Or, I can. You haven’t done much of anything.”

“I was the handsome friend who kept you company and provided helpful insight,” he smiles, standing up and dusting off his jeans.

“Yeah, alright. Well, time to go home,” I reply, picking up the saw and handing it to him, bleach smell muffled by fresh cut wood and metal.

“Can I at least come in and wash up?”

Wash up what? He hasn’t so much as touched a hammer and he looks completely clean and not sweaty at all. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly makes his way to the kitchen sink, looking around curiously at the bareness I haven’t refilled after Narumi moved out but not making a spectacle of it. He tries to chat lightly as he washes his hands but I’m too tired to humor him, the dark coolness of the house making my eyes droop almost immediately. I lead him to the door, expecting him to leave quietly, probably never to be seen again, but he turns around at the last second, eyes half lidded and an almost hungry look to the way they shine.

“I’m glad we could become friends, Hajime. We should get together again soon.”

“Uh, I, yeah,” I stutter, but he’s already down the porch steps and climbing into his car. The way he said Hajime sending a tingle down my spine, snapping me awake. It’s stupid, but no one has ever said my name like that, like honey pouring over the lip of a jar, and I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t so stunned.

The door is still open as he pulls out of the driveway, and all I can think of is how easily he can read me as he waves goodbye. I can imagine the smile on his face, from however far away he happens to be, as if he knows what I’m thinking better than I do, that he can read me better than I can read myself.

I close the door, wondering how he managed to force his way into a friendship with me hardly noticing. He said I was ’interesting’, that I was hard to read, as if he is not the strangest specimen I’ve ever encountered with his flawless understanding of social cues and yet completely blunt curiosity. Where the line between what is truly him and what he wants me to believe is real?

His plastic is too shiny, too perfect, and I can see right through it, but what’s underneath is even harder to understand. I should leave it alone, go to bed and never let him cross my mind again, but I seem to have been born with an inescapable death wish and an insatiable lust for danger.

I wonder for a second how my fingertips would fit below the edges of his mask, and then I think ‘fuck that’, and head to bed, trying to figure out at what point I managed to lose control of my life.


	3. Conversations - Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it has been soooo long since I updated this I'm so sorry. Finals got in the way and all that good stuff but hopeful I'll be able to write more regularly now! (As long as I get my hqbb stuff done lol) Anyway, thank you to everyone who's suck with me on this! Hope I won't disappoint :)
> 
>  
> 
> Empty bread, empty mouths, combien reaction  
> Empty bread, empty mouths, talk about the passion  
> Not everyone can carry the weight of the world  
> Not everyone can carry the weight of the world  
> Talk about the passion, talk about the passion  
> \- R.E.M.

Ten and two. Hands firm on the wheel at ten and two and eyes on the road just like Momma taught me. Breathe in and out, voice down and chest calm. My lungs expand, cradled behind my ribs, and I am calm. I am calm.

Except I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m _not_. My mind is buzzing from the sugar rush of sweet excitement bubbling inside my core. I reach for my phone in the pale light that falls between shadows and through my windows, Yachi’ smiling face on the screen and my thumb hovering over the call button before I turn it back off and sit it in the empty cup holder.

I need to talk to someone, to relieve the pressure building up in my throat, but not Yachi. She wouldn’t want to hear about this. So I drive, as fast as I can without drawing attention until I am in my own driveway and practically hopping up the front porch steps. My cat is waiting near the door when I unlock it and walk in, eye squinting at the sudden light, but I don’t have time to stop and play. The familiar stairs feel different under my shoes with speed, but they creak in the same places and end with the same heavy metal door.

I mumble excitedly to myself as I pull open the freezer in the corner, cold hitting my face like a wash relief and welcome, releasing the vice around my aching chest. The plastic bowls smile at me, as happy to see me as I am them. Some of them actually do smile, sets of pink and yellowed teeth peeking through clear plastic. I stack them onto the table at the center of the room, arranged in a semi circle like an audience, a pair of eyes in the corner showing how eager they all are to listen blinking in anticipation.

I roll a chair over in front of them and sit down, hunched forward, elbows on my knees and hands clasped under my chin, searching for the right words, “Okay, I have good news and bad news. Where should I start?”

I can feel them all holding their breath, waiting anxiously for me to continue. “Okay, I’ll start with the good news,” I say, a smile breaking out over my face that I can’t control, and I don’t want to. “I’ve found it. Well, ‘it’ is more of a ‘him’, a very buff and attractive him I might add, but the point is I’ve found what I’ve been looking for.

Spite radiates from one of my friends, words spitting out from underneath the plastic lid. _What do you mean?_

“That’s an excellent question,” I answer, standing up and pacing around the table. “Answers, love, I’ve been looking for answers, and I’ve finally found them. In a sense.”

Another friend speaks, a pair of fingers this time, sticky pink stained ring still sitting below the knuckle. _Answers to what?_

“Answers to my age old riddle, of course,” I beam, lifting her off the table and hugging her to my chest. “What makes us human.”

I sit the bowl down just as someone else speaks, a lower voice coming from somewhere in the middle of the group, listing off components of a human shell.

“No, besides all of that! Besides the blood and hair and skin. Besides the fear and the anger. There’s something _inside_. There has to be. Something that I don’t have.”

The eyes speak up next, shy and sweet. _Did we have it?_

“You guys? No, you’re all like me. I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary inside of any of you. But him. _Him_. He’s so purely and pathetically human. He’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before someone else speaks, pulling me out of my racing thoughts. _Are you going to…hurt him?_

“What? Oh, no. Well, not yet at least. I need to keep him alive for at least a little while. I’ve waited so long for this I don’t want to fuck it up,” I sigh, leaning against the table and folding my arms. “I have to learn as much as I can before I open him up. Who knows when I’ll ever find another genuine human?”

A lung on the edge of the table speaks next, his voice even and calm, so much different than he sounded last time he was on this table. I remember it clearly _. So, what’s the bad news?_

“The bad news? Oh yes, I almost forgot. The bad news is you all died for nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. It sure helped me out a lot. But you didn’t die for anything…significant.” I wave my hand around in time with my words, dropping back into the chair and crossing my legs.

They all speak at once, yelling and crying, cursing at me like they had when their pieces were still one. I just smile, their anger flooding me like a refreshing splash of water to my tired skin. They say such horrid things. How much they hate me, how desperately hey long for life, what a monster I am. But they forget one important thing: monsters cannot be moved by tears or insults. I feel nothing at the words they throw at me, their impacts not even leaving the faintest of bruises.

But one voice, the first one to speak tonight, with her strong bite and venom in her teeth, cuts through the din, speaking straight to me. _I hope he kills you first_. Calm as day but so thick and so _loud_.

My smile drops immediately, cheeks limp where they sit against my bones. “Excuse me?”

The rest of them go silent, collective breath held as I stand over them, searching for the speaker. I _said I hope he kills your sorry ass before you get anywhere close to him_. Right in the center, the container with the cold dead heart inside, the label reading ‘go fuck yourself’ facing out.

“And how do you suppose he’ll do that, love?” I ask, scooting the others away from her and kneeling down so we’re face to face.

 _I hope he finds out what you’ve done. I hope he exposes you for all you are and is so disgusted he puts a bullet between your eyes on the spot_. She spits the words, and I can almost feel it hit my face. My skin boils, good mood ruined, and I feel something rupture inside of me.

“You stupid bitch!” I scream, standing up and sweeping my arm across the table, anger exploding in my veins and skin burning where it connects with plastic. All of my friends fly off the table, some connecting with the wall and some falling to the floor. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

She looks up at me from the white tile floor, out of her bowl and sitting in a pool of whatever managed to defrost in the last hour. _You’ve been sloppy. You know it. They have evidence on you._

“Shut up.”

_They have cars, they have family testimonies._

“Shut up,” I repeat, clamping my hands over my ears.

_All they need is a fingerprint, a single strand of hair, a bit of fabric._

“Shut up shut up SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

_Are you sure you got rid of them all? Every little piece?_

I drop my hands, anger seething like bubbling spit through my teeth as I pick her up off the floor, ignoring the way the ice bites into my palm. I squeeze, but she doesn’t yield. “Of course I did. What do you take me for?”

_What about my body?_

“What?”

_You were in a hurry, weren’t you? You were late for work._

“How do you know that?”

_Where’d you put me, Tooru?_

“I-I got rid of you…like usual,” I stutter, fear gripping me suddenly, and I let her go, clattering to the ground again, heavy and wet.

_Are you sure? You didn’t do a half assed job and scurry off to work?_

“Godamnit,” I breathe, eyes wide in my skull as I remember. It had been early, my shift started at eight, the sun was coming up. “It wasn’t deep enough. My hole wasn’t deep enough.”

 _I hope you rot in hell, motherfucker_ , she says, more joy in her voice than I’ve heard there before, laughing as I slump to the ground, head in my hands.

Everything is spinning, my stomach threatening to empty its contents on the cold tile. She’s right. She is _so right_. I entered into this game at a disadvantage, my lead stripped out from under me.

I am losing.

For the first time I am _losing._

The flame in my heart lights up hotter than ever before, urging me on, forming my will to live into a stabbing need beneath my skin that I can’t ignore.

I am down in this battle but ultimately the war, and my quest for answers in the exact shade of Hajime’s blood, will be mine for the taking.

I stay there for who knows how long, my thoughts and plans racing too fast for me to do anything else but stay stiff against the wall, the immobility allowing the ideas to permeate deeper and deeper in my mind. I think I sleep at some point, but I’m not sure, everything covered in a soft haze of non reality anyway. I have to fix my mistakes, rebury the body, and get away as fast as I can; but I have to wait for night, since the sun is already starting to rise by the time I leave my basement. The smell of blood from my melting friends in their pink puddles starts to bounce against the metal surfaces, but I am not in the mood to clean up my mess.

I shower and dress, slipping the hideous red polo over my head with a grimace. I have an early shift today; just enough time to get my supplies together before heading in and plenty of empty hours afterward to head out to my destination. I won’t be rushed this time.

Yachi is in the break room when I walk in, smiling over a cup of coffee and chatting with Shimizu and Kenma. Morning shifts are always quiet, only a few of us working since we only really need one register open up front.

“You look terrible,” Shimizu says as I head over to the coffee machine in the corner, pulling a mug from the shelf silently and filling it with weak coffee.

“Do I?” I say flatly without turning around, not feeling up to my usual banter. I can feel Yachi’s worried eyes on my back.

“Are you alright?” Yachi covers my hand with her much smaller one when I drop into a chair at the small table, all of us waiting for 8am to roll around so we can open the doors.

“M’fine,” I mumble into my cup, swallowing the bitter liquid and wincing slightly as it burns my throat.

“Tooru-,”

“I’m fine, Hitoka!” I snap, slamming my hand and yelling “fuck!” when the coffee sloshes out and over my knuckles. I jump up and grab a towel, walking away from the hurt look I know is pasted on Yachi’s face. I wipe up the mess and sit back down, no one speaking for a few minutes, the sound of clock hands ticking permeating every tense second.

“It’s your eyes,” Kenma chimes, looking up from his phone, the sudden sound making Yachi jump beside me.

“What?”

“Your eyes. That’s why they’re asking,” he tells me, continuing even as I glare at him. “That’s the only thing out of the ordinary. They look dull and tired, like you’re stressed or upset. It’s easy to pick up on.”

Shimizu raises her eyebrows, impressed by the statement, and Yachi looks up at me, silently pleading for me to talk to her. It’s all so annoying and pathetic, so small an occurrence in human interaction. So many bigger things to care about and they focus on things that are so miniscule, so insignificant, so disgustingly and pitifully _human_ ; it makes me laugh.

No one else laughs with me; they just watch with their mixed expressions of disinterest, contempt, and worry. I stand up again, pushing my chair away from the table and still laughing softly before turning to Kenma. “Well, if you’re done psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Freud, I’m gonna go open the store.”

My face falls the second I step into the hallway, twisting into an expression someone would probably call the exact opposite of laughter, salt and iron touching my tongue as I bite my lip just hard enough for teeth to slip through soft pink skin. I need to get my shit together, to compose myself. I can’t have everyone bugging me about this or that or I swear to god I will lose my mind. My hand inches for something heavy and sharp, the piece of myself I’ve gotten better at controlling screaming and writhing in stress induced hunger. It feels like it will bare its fangs, shoving it’s face between my ribs and out of my chest but I have to push it down. I have important things to do. It’s okay. It won’t starve.

We’ll be fine.

Probably.

There’s a young man waiting outside the glass door, eyes bright under shaggy hair and lean muscle barely showing through his thin Pokémon t-shirt. I consider it; I imagine bringing this kid back home with me a cutting him open until his blood oozes out like the stress that will escape my own skin. I consider it; my fingers itching and chest growling as I turn the key and let the automatic doors slide open, his heartbeat pulsating through the air, taunting me with each undulation, but he thanks me politely and skips off toward the electronics, and I let out a deep breath I didn’t know I was holding.

What is wrong with me?

I’m way too unstable right now, and I just know I’m going to fuck something up like this. I don’t trust myself when I’m this upset.

“Tooru,”

“Oh my god, _what_!?” I whirl around, ready to tell someone to fuck off but stop dead in my tracks as Yachi’s blonde hair fills my vision. She shrinks for a second and then stands straight, brows furrowing.

“Don’t yell at me,” she says, holding up a hand as my mouth opens reflexively. “And don’t apologize. You know that doesn’t work on me.”

“Okay,” I breathe, my heartbeat still erratic but the wild boil of the blood in my veins starting to simmer. She takes my hand and pulls me over towards the empty women’s clothes section, away from the front doors, and rounds on me with brown eyes narrowed and skinny arms crossed. Her lip quivers, and her fingers dig into her arm but I don’t comment on it. She tries so hard to be stern.

“Hitoka, look,” I start, but she shakes her head.

“No. Something is very wrong with you. Don’t insult me by saying there isn’t. I haven’t seen you like this for years, Tooru. Not since,” she pauses, voice softening and sighing. “Just tell me, okay? It’s only me.”

She’s pleading; eyes meeting mine with a mix of worry and determination. I drag a hand down my cheek with a strangled groan, looking over her head, eyes boring into the wall as I think. So many thoughts, so many options, and I want to scream. She waits patiently for my response, and I let the air stagnate before giving it to her.

“True or false?”

She doesn’t hesitate, answering immediately because she knows this is something about me and not her delicate constitution. Sometimes I think its idiotic how self sacrificing she is. “True.”

“The girl, from last weekend,” I start, and she winces.

“The one who’s name you can’t remember.” It isn’t a question.

“I was late for work when I got rid of her, and I got sloppy. I’ve been obsessing over it since last night.”

“Is that why you look like you haven’t slept?” She reaches up and brushes something off of my cheek softly. “Yeah, probably,” I sigh, pulling away. “That’s the least of my fucking worries though.”

“Do you remember where you…took her?” She asks, hesitating but doing her best not to show it.

“Sort of,” I say, rubbing the base of my palms against my eyes until splotches of color fill my vision. “It’ all kind of blurry. You know how I get sometimes, when I can’t remember. I know the area, though.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Her sternness is all gone, replaced by something I’d call a mix of sadness and exasperation.

“Go fix it,” I tell her, turning to leave because customers are starting to slowly trickle in and I need to get to my register before Shimizu starts asking questions.

“I’m coming with you,” she blurts, grabbing my hand as I start to go. “Tonight. I’ll help you.”

I whirl back, the look in my eyes apparently intense from the way hers widen briefly. “Hitoka, no.”

She puffs out her chest, standing as tall as she can, a move I remember from many a childhood squabble. “Yes I am.”

I open my mouth again to argue, but she narrows her brown eyes dangerously and I suddenly feel twice as exhausted. “Hitoka,” I breathe, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut.

“Great,” she smiles, brilliance in its shape but grief still in her expression, and claps. “I’ll be over right after work.” She skips off without another word.

She can be insufferable sometimes, but _godamn_ I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone braver than that tiny girl. She’s a bird perched in the mouth of a lion, and I can’t seem to bring myself to snap my jaws.

***

I’m sitting in my living room when Yachi shows up at my door, the sun sinking but still deceptively hot as it pours through my windows turning the oxygen into an invisible molten blanket. I don’t sleep, I still haven’t, but the way I sit slumped down, eyes closed, breathing almost nonexistent, would probably give the impression I was. My bag sits open on the coffee table, gloves and extra clothes sitting on top of various sharp tools and cleaning products. I didn’t so much as plan than just throw whatever I thought could be useful into the bag. The only thing I think I’ll be using is the shovel which is already in the truck.

Yachi doesn’t knock, which is a good thing because I wouldn’t get up to let her in, but just unlocks the door herself and walks in. I look up slightly as she steps into the living room, looking around curiously. It always surprises me how much the large room seems to swallow her.

“Nothing is different, you know,” I say, making her jump as she lifts up a vase to examine its cracking ceramic finish. I’ve always hated that vase, ever since Momma bought the tacky thing from one of the dingy flea markets she loved to frequent. “I haven’t changed the décor at all.”

“What? Oh, I know,” she breathes; realizing I’ve been awake the whole time and sitting the vase back in the exact same position she’d found it. There was a reason Momma liked her so much. “I think that’s what’s so jarring. Every time I walk in here I feel ten again.”

“Try living here,” I mumble, rubbing my hand along the arm of my chair and smoothing it back down. “It looks like an 80’s time bomb and I feel like Daddy’s gonna walk down the stairs at any minute and yell at me for not reading my bible today.”

I rub my eyes and sit up straight, checking the time for what feels like the twentieth time that hour. The hands of my watch seem like they’re moving through corn syrup, thick like my pure anxiousness to get going. Not yet though. Not yet. Yachi comes around and sits in the chair opposite me; a burgundy one I never quite cared for. It doesn’t match the olive green and floral motif Momma had going on but Daddy liked it so it stayed.

“Why don’t you redecorate?” She asks, ignoring my immediate frown. “I think it could be fun. It’ll take a while to do the whole house since it’s so big but maybe it could keep you…occupied for a while. And the house will look much more modern afterwards.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I sigh, eyeing the ugly lace doilies on the table.

“It looks like an old lady’s house, Tooru,” she continues.

“It _is_ an old lady’s house,” I snap, my tone turning cold and setting a silence between us. Yachi’s mouth had been open to continue spouting ideas but now it just snaps shut. Maybe I hurt her feelings. I don’t know. I lean back in my chair and check the time again, the hand barely having moved since last time. Yachi waits a while before speaking again.

“Have you spoken to Kaori lately?”

“What?”

“Your sister,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. No, not for…for a while,” I answer, checking the time once more and standing to grab my bag. “It’s time to go. Last chance to turn back.”

“I’m coming,” she states, standing firm.

“In that?” I look skeptically down at her loose striped top and shorts.

“I have clothes in the car.”

I just shrug, making my way onto the porch and locking the front door behind us, Yachi walking over to grab a small bag from her car before heading back towards me. I don’t want her to come, don’t want to drag her into my problems with me, but she can be surprisingly stubborn. People always think she’s a pushover because of how nice she is, but they don’t know the Yachi I know. Where they see soft doe eyes and skinny wrists I see an almost stupid amount of determination and an incredible amount of motherly attitude for a childless twenty four year old.

“I saw her not very long ago.”

“Huh?” I ask, glancing at her as I open the garage and throw my bag into the back of Daddy’s old pickup. “Who?”

“Kaori,” she answers, wrinkling her nose as a wave of heat pours out of the garage, falling over us like a heavy rush of sticky loathing. “We’re taking this?”

“It’s better for going off road,” I reply, pulling the door open with a rusty creak and hopping up, the interior much hotter than I imagined, the air almost too thick to breathe.

“She came into the store on a day you had off,” she continues, mirroring my actions on the passenger side and immediately starting to fan herself with her hand. I start the truck and we both crank the handles to lower the windows. “She didn’t ask for you or anything, but we talked for a few minutes.”

“That’s wild. A grown woman shopping at a major department store in the city she lives in? It isn’t heard of,” I deadpan, not sure why I’m trying to push her buttons.

“Tooru,” she sighs, “don’t act like that. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I know, I know,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes as I pause at the end of the driveway before pulling into the street. “I’m just not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood. You always change the subject. She’s your _sister_.”

“Listen, she doesn’t want to talk to me just as much as I don’t want to talk to her,” I tell her, gripping the wheel tighter as I navigate the streets.

“Takeru was with her,” she tells me, and I’m no longer sure who’s pushing whose buttons. She stares out the window as she speaks, almost like she’s just narrating her thoughts instead of actually having a conversation. “He’s gotten so tall. He’s starting to grow his hair out, it’s wavy like yours. He sort of looks like your d-,”

“Hitoka!” I yell, and she jumps, turning to look at me. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, okay? I have shit to worry about I don’t have time for this!”

“I-,”

“No!” We hit a stoplight and I bow my head, pressing the warm steering wheel against my even warmer skin. “I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

She doesn’t answer, just turns back to face forward, rubbing her hands against the fabric of her shorts. A breeze starts to sweep through the open cab and I imagine it blowing the conversation away, words and bated breath disassembling and taking to the wind, letters floating across the grass along the road. I think Yachi feels the same way, her voice much less tense when she leans over to talk to me. “The light is blue.”

The rest of the trip is mostly silent except for the tinny sound of the radio Yachi turned on, settling on some 90’s pop station. It works for a bit, both of us bobbing our head along to the Backstreet Boys, but as we reach the edges of town the signal recedes and the music is mixed with some political talk show, the song and the cold flat voices forming a less than comforting amalgam. I reach forward to flick it off, purple dusk shadows falling over the back of my hand and looking like splotched bruises on my pale skin. I pull back almost too fast, heart rate quickening, but if Yachi notices she doesn’t mention it.

“So where exactly are we going?” She asks, reaching into her bag and pulling out a water bottle. “Want some?” She’s so short that the sun visor does nothing to cover her line of sight and the thick dark shadows cover her whole face, the contusions only interrupted by her small smile.

“No thanks,” I answer, looking forward to avoid her face and mentally berating myself for acting like this. For someone who’s seen the inside of several people you’d think a few fake bruises would be nothing. I ignore the way my stomach turns and keep driving. “Not much farther. Maybe fifteen more minutes.”

“At least it’s getting cooler now,” she continues, taking a drink of her water and leaning back into the seat. “And the sky looks so pretty.”

“Mhmm.”

“I like it out here. It’ so peaceful compared to the city.” She continues rambling on about trees or how the birds look silhouetted against the clouds or some other aesthetic shit I can’t bring myself to care about, and I just let her. Having a voice fill the cab is better than being surrounded by a silence that enunciates every intrusive thought.

It’s a combination of things causing this sudden panic inside of me, I think, and yet I can’t put my finger on any of it. I’ve never felt this helpless, this completely out of control of my own limbs and the way they shake, or my own throat and how it closes at any slight provocation. I’ve never been this easily nauseated, this easily flustered, this fucking useless. I want to tear at my own face but I’m afraid of what the sight of my own blood would do to me right now.

A familiar side road appears in front of us just as the inky blue of night finally overtakes the sky, getting rid of the offending colors. I turn the wheels off of the paved asphalt and onto the rocky packed dirt next to it, the wheels fitting to the new terrain but bouncing the cab around along the way. It feels like sitting on the top of an old washing machine.

I follow the path much farther than the spot we’re going; at least another mile and a half up the trail, and soon the dirt beneath the tires becomes thick brush and fallen limbs as I pull off to at least somewhat cover the truck. I can hear Yachi gulp beside me in the dark cab as I shut off the engine, finally realizing what she’s gotten herself into.

“Wipe down the radio, dashboard, and door as much as you can. And anything else you think you might have touched,” I tell her, tossing a ripped piece of cloth from the floorboard her way. “Be as careful as you can.”

“O-okay,” she stutters, grabbing the cloth and stating to rub clean the places I told her and everywhere else she can reach.

“Don’t forget the outside of the door. And your bag. We have to take everything with us.”

“Oh, right!” She squeaks, turning to the outside door handle and rubbing at the rust eaten paint job.

When we’re both sure the truck is completely clean I grab my shovel and bag from the bed and sling it over my shoulder, waiting patiently as Yachi changes on the other side of the cab. She emerges a few moments later, shoving her clean clothes back into the bag and slipping her arms through the straps.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Yachi follows close behind me in silence for a while, relying on my familiarity with the terrain to lead her through the dark. She grabs onto my shirt a few times when she trips but I don’t have time to dawdle. She gets the hang of it rather quickly though, and her stumbles grow few and far between. About a half a mile in we reach the bank of the river, the reflective surface providing just a bit more light than the tightly packed trees.

“If we follow this for a while we’ll find her,” I say, stopping to let Yachi catch her breath for a moment before continuing. “There’s a spot ahead with three huge stacked rocks on the left bank. She’s around there.”

“Are they all there?”

I consider the question, letting her decide if she really wants to know before asking, “True or false?”

“True,” she breathes, hopping over a mossy log half immersed in the water.

‘No. They’re all in different spots. I think it’s rude to throw them all in a community grave. They’re people not time capsules.”

“Do you remember where they all are?”

“Every single one,” I reply, the constant trickle of the river beside us much quieter than expected.

“How?”

“They’re all different. Like this one; I put her here because I thought she was like a river, calm on the surface but coursing fast enough to pull you down underneath,” I tell her, thinking back to the other places I’ve visited for similar reasons to this. “It’s dangerous to have them all close together so I put them in places unique to them. I think I just put one in a trash bag once. Or several trash bags-,”

“Alright! Alright that’s enough,” Yachi interjects, one hand around her stomach.

“You asked,” I shrug, feeling much better out here in the cool evening breeze and surrounded by nothing but silence and nature, even if I know there’s something else hidden among the dead leaves and sprouting plants.

“I know I did,” she sighs, standing on her tiptoes to peer farther up the river, effectively dropping the subject. “Hey is that the spot?” She points to a group of boulders several yards ahead of us, the sound of the water slightly louder as it laps up the sides of the smooth stone.

“Yeah. C’mon,” I answer, tensing up again as I grab her hand and pull her back into the trees and along the mental path I made in my mind to our destination.

“What if you can’t find her? What if she’s gone? What if-,”

“Hitoka, shut up,” I spit, not needing her to add any more stress to my already anxious mind.

“Right. Sorry.”

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the dark just inside the tree line I finally see her. Well, not her, but the spot where I know I put her. It’s almost artistic the way the recently disturbed patch of dirt sits in a ring of moonlight underneath a break in the canopy. I imagine her beckoning me forward; those disgusting plastic purple claws of hers rising out of the makeshift grave and curling to pull me towards her.

I drop my bag on the ground next to her, glad to have the heavy thing off of my aching shoulder and set the shovel tip to the patch of soil. After one shovelful Yachi stops me, her shaking hand gripping my wrist.

“I don’t want to see this. I’m gonna step over here and keep a lookout, okay?” Even in the pale glow of moonlight her face looks distinctly green.

“Suit yourself.” She shuffles off and I resume my work, barely making it three feet down before unearthing something resembling flesh. Way too shallow. So careless.  I’ll have to dig this hole at least twice as deep before putting her back in. I clear the thick layer above her before getting in the hole to start carefully removing the dirt closer around her, careful not to do any damage.

With a few quick sweeps her face is free, cold and yet disturbingly alive in the colorless night. I can almost hear her voice spitting insults at me again, can almost feel her scathing words against the walls of my throat, but this time they make me smile in a way that feels more like a sneer. “Who’s laughing now, go fuck yourself?”

As if on cue a harsh bark cuts through the silence, and Yachi staggers back between the trees and over towards me with her eyes wide and terrified. “Dogs,” she pants, pointing behind her with her thumb. “And voices. I didn’t see them but there’s more than one.”

“What kind?”

“What? I don’t know they sounded-,”

“Were they police dogs!?”

I didn’t know it was possible but her eyes widen even farther than before. “I think so.”

“Shit,” I breathe, looking down at the face of the woman in the hole, and I swear for a moment she actually smiles. I grab my bag and start shoving Yachi back the way we came. “We have to get the fuck out of here.”

“But the hole,” she whispers insistently, looking over her shoulder and instantly regretting what she sees.

“There’s no time, Hitoka! Move your ass!” I move in front of her to pull her along instead, moving much faster toward the river bank than she could. The barks and growls get louder and louder by the second until I can practically feel their snarls on the back of my neck.

“They’re going to catch us,” Yachi blurts, her voice thick with the frightened tears I know are streaming down her face. “We can’t make it.”

I stop, knowing she’s right, and reevaluate the situation. We can’t outrun police dogs, but we can outsmart them. “Come on.”

I keep pulling her towards the water, stepping straight into the frigid water and not stopping.

“Tooru!”

“They won’t be able to smell us across the water,” I say without turning back, and she hesitates for just a moment before following. If she has any disbelief in my theory she doesn’t voice it, and the two of us wade across the wide expanse of water as quickly as we can. The bag over my shoulder pulls me down as we reach the deepest area, and I have to let it go, feeling it and my shovel hit the bed somewhere below my feet. The dogs catch up but don’t follow us across, the officers accompanying them thankfully somewhere far behind. We emerge shivering and terrified, but don’t stop. I pull Yachi behind me into the trees, finding somewhere with thick enough brush to kneel behind.

“C-can you s-see them?” Yachi asks, teeth chattering and lips blue in the moonlight.

“Shhh,” I answer, peering through the gaps in our cover to watch as the dogs start sniffing again and move back the way they came. When my heart calms as much as I think it’s going to I slump down, shoving my head between my knees. “Yeah they’re gone.”

Yachi just nods, clutching her chest and trying to breathe evenly. Neither of us moves, terrified of what might still be just beyond the water, and after about five minutes our fears come true.

First it’s the sound of the dogs returning, their loud snorts and sniffs bouncing off the water’s surface. A few men stand beyond the trees, their shapes only discernible from the bright flashlights they’re waving around until they all land on the ground. Each one of them has their own comment to make.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Sweet Jesus.”

“Call the Lieutenant. We found her.”

The last one slips the walkie talkie he just spoke into back into his pocket and kneels down to examine the body closer. I can’t breathe, can’t think, and can’t even feel Yachi’s fingernails digging into my skin where she grips my arm for dear life. We could leave, could back up slowly and book it back to safety, but we’re both completely frozen to the spot, watching in abject terror as everything that could have gone wrong does.

More officers start to slowly show up, followed by a team that works on carefully extracting the body from the hole so they can take her back and examine her. A silver haired man in a suit and tie shows up, talking quietly with the excavation team before turning to one of the officers, a tall man who speaks much too loudly for his own good.

“Is it her?”

“We can’t be sure until her family identifies the body but,” the silver haired man pauses, looking up as if their pain is his to bear. As if all the grief of the world has a rightful place on his thin shoulders. “Yeah it’s her.”

I turn to look at Yachi, her eyes trained fixedly on the scene before us but her legs poised to run at a second’s notice. I can see the gears turning in her head and I wonder briefly if she’s planning to blow our cover. It would be brilliant, I must admit, to expose me with the safety of half the Sendai City police station around her. Not to mention that currently I’m unarmed and helpless. It would be the smartest thing she could ever do, I think, but I know she won’t. I don’t know exactly why, I’d sell myself out in a heartbeat, but I just know she won’t.

“Suga!” A deep voice rings out through the trees, and my blood runs cold. I know that voice. Iwaizumi and another dark haired man enter the clearing next to the silver hired man. “You found her!? Where was…oh. Oh _god_.” He drops to his knees by the shallow grave, all of the rigidity disappearing from his body as he crumples like a ragdoll, and I can’t breathe.

“Hajime,” the other dark haired man says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you find anyone?”

“She’s been here for days,” The silver haired man, Suga, replies with a sigh. “Whoever put her here is long gone by now. There are some officers checking the area but I don’t think we’ll find anything else.”

“Let’s go,” Yachi whispers, tugging on my arm, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I can’t stop watching the emotions flow through him as the other detectives talk. Anger, grief, determination. I can see them all just from the way the muscles of his back tense and release, moving underneath his suit jacket.

“We failed her, Suga,” he mumbles, standing back up with a fierce resolve set in his face. “I won’t fail another one.”

“Tooru!” Yachi whispers as loudly as she dares, shaking me to get my attention. “The truck!”

My focus returns as if all at once, but I still can’t bring my jaw to move. Instead I nod, and the two of us slowly inch backwards until we’re deep enough in the tree line that we’re sure no one will hear us and begin sprinting down the river and towards the truck. The mile and a half feels like a marathon, our lives having spanned an entire year just in the last few hours, and I barely feel the iciness of the water the second time we wade across.

No one seems to be around the truck as we sneak towards it, but I keep the headlights off as we jump in and make our way back towards the familiar path to the road. The second rubber hits asphalt I push the gas pedal sown so hard I’m almost sure the engine will explode. But fuck it. Let it. Let the whole godamn earth burn down to nothing but perfectly even black ash.

“Fuck!” I scream when we hit the highway and I let up on the gas just a bit, both of us breathing for the first time in hours. Yachi doesn’t even jump at the outburst. But once it’s out I can’t stop, slamming closed fists against the sides of the steering wheel in an embarrassing show of lost composure. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

Yachi watches silently, shaking her head and finally beginning to sob, dropping her head into her hands and just wailing. So much emotion held between us. “What are we…gonna…gonna do,” she hiccups, wiping futilely at her eyes and nose, the sleeves of her wet shirt doing nothing to stem the flow of tears.

I don’t answer because I don’t know. I don’t _know_. I just keep driving, heading towards a home I’m almost afraid to return to. This might be the first time I’ve ever been in a situation like this. The first time that I just do not know what is coming next or how to handle it.

My life, as far as I know it, is over, and I am not afraid to take as many people with me as I can.


	4. Bruises - Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many train wrecks do we need to see  
> Before we lose touch of  
> We thought this was low  
> It's bad getting worse so  
> Where did all the good people go,  
> I've been changing channels  
> I don't see them  
> On the TV shows  
> Where did all the good people go,  
> We got heaps and heaps of what we sow
> 
> \- Jack Johnson

The rush of the river lapping against the bank to my side, bits of mist pressing cold fingers against my cheek, the dirt and stones beneath my knees biting into my skin, the wet sediment soaking into the fabric of my slacks; all of these things tell me this is real. _I_ am real, and I am here, next to the dead body of a girl I thought I could save. My meager dinner of trail mix and Pepsi swirls in my stomach and threatens to make a reappearance, but a hand falls on my shoulder and I take a deep breath.

“Hajime,” Akaashi whispers, asking so many questions in that single inflection of his voice. Too many questions that I can’t answer right now.

“Did you find anyone?” That’s all I can focus on right now. The only thought keeping my head above water being bringing whatever bastard did this to justice.

“She’s been here for days,” Suga sighs, his voice sounding distant and almost muffled. “Whoever put her here is long gone by now. There are some officers checking the area but I don’t think we’ll find anything else.

“Bokuto said the dogs were going wild right before they found her,” Kuroo tells Suga somewhere behind me but I can’t focus, my eyes trained on the girl sticking out of the steadily growing hole the excavation team is working on. “Do you think they missed anything?”

“Maybe. We’ll have to come back tomorrow and check the area more thoroughly but for now we need to focus on getting the body back to the lab and properly identifying her,” Suga breathes, and I can feel the heartbreak in his voice matching the frequency of mine. I thought he had grown indifferent from years of seeing nothing but the ugliness of the world but I was wrong. He still cares, he cares so _godamn_ much.

“We failed her, Suga,” I say, my own voice sounding foreign in my ears and my lips numb as they move. _We_ failed her? No, I failed her. I should’ve worked faster or paid more attention, found the one scrap of evidence that would have led me here before her skin ever touched this soil, whatever that piece of evidence may have been. She was relying on me to solve it, to find her, _to save her_ , but I didn’t, and now we’re both here on this muddy bank in the cruel moonlight but only one of us is breathing. My knees crack as I stand and turn to face him. “I won’t fail another one.”

“Another one?” Kuroo asks, eyebrows raised and the same questioning look on his face as Akaashi’s. “What do you mean?”

“This is a serial murder,” I answer plainly.

“Hajime,” Suga sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the space between them the way he always does when he’s tired.

“You think we have a serial killer on the loose?” Kuroo asks, seeming to be the only one taking me seriously.

“Yes. Suga mentioned something about there being a string of these abandoned car cases that come to dead ends because we can never find the bodies, but look at this,” I tell them, pointing behind me where the men are starting to carefully extract the woman from the hole. “This is what we needed to start an investigation.” I feel sick saying it, as if her death was a good thing for the case, but it’s true.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Akaashi says, worry in his unreadable eyes. “You might be right but we can’t go around spouting theories without looking into them. It’s dangerous.”

“I know that!” I yell, the sound drowned out in the commotion among the trees so used to silence. I fist one hand in my hair and pull, willing some of the tension to leave my body. “I know, I just…I just have a strong feeling about this, okay?”

“Come on,” Suga says softly, suddenly close to me even though I never saw him move. “We should go. All of us. There’s nothing for us to do here and we need to get some rest. There are some long days in front of us starting tomorrow.”

Kuroo and Akaashi nod, and I follow the three of them back through the trees, stepping carefully over holes and fallen branches I paid no mind to on the way in. When we reach where the squad cars line the edge of the dirt road where the tree line begins Akaashi offers to give me a ride home and Kuroo agrees, hopping in the car with Suga instead. He doesn’t speak for most of the ride, just letting the sound of soft static from the receiving radio and my slowly calming breaths fill the space.

It isn’t until we’re in front of my house and I’m climbing out of the car that he leans over and fixes me with that impassive face that holds so many unspoken words. “We’ll look into this, Hajime, I promise. Don’t give up but don’t do anything stupid until we know more, okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, going to shut the door but his arm stops me.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself before the case.” Memories flicker behind his eyes but I try to ignore them, not in the mood to relive them right now. “I mean it.”

“Alright, Keiji, yeah,” I tell him, looking up to avoid his gaze and shoving my hands in the pockets of my dirty tattered slacks. “I promise.”

“Okay,” he says, letting go of the door and sitting back up in his. “See you tomorrow, Hajime. Get some sleep.”

“You too.”

He drives off slowly in the silent night, the inside of my stomach feeling like the pull of the asphalt beneath his tires. I don’t have time to rest. Not with a killer on the loose. Akaashi’s taillights are barely around the corner by the time I’ve changed clothes and hopped into my own car, barely paying mind to the familiar path that leads me back to the police station.

The lights are still on in the station when I pull into my usual parking space. The lights were always on at the station; the one building in town that never slept with its constantly glowing eyes reflecting the sleepless people who work inside. I pass a few officers on the lower floors all waiting for some sort of call to bring life to their late shifts. They wave politely and I try to smile back, not wanting to know what cruel bastardization of the expression blooms on my face. My feet make their way to my floor on their own, my mind too occupied to tell them where to go, and I expect to find it empty but a familiar head pops up from behind a computer screen in the corner.

“I knew it!” Kuroo says, sounding like a shout in the cavernous empty room, and I sigh.

“If you’re here to tell me to go home and rest then just save it. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he shakes his head, standing and making his way over to me. “Like I could tell old Hardass Hajime what to do.” Usually I’d bristle at the nickname, or being called old by someone barely a year younger than me, but there’s no room for anything else on my train of thought right now.

“Wait, why are you here? It’s like 3am,” I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall and finding I’m right.

“On the way back Suga and I were talking and he said he’s not the gambling type but he’d bet good money you would come straight here tonight.”

“Don’t let Suga fool you he still owes me ¥20,000 from a blackjack game a few years ago.” I fold my arms and tap my fingers against them, impatience buzzing in my veins and drowning out the burning exhaustion. “So you came to spy on me or what?”

“Nah. I already knew you’d come too,” he says, his grin faltering a bit as he speaks, and I realize how tired he must be too. I start to open my mouth to tell him to go home and rest but he speaks again. “I came to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yeah!” He beams, pointing his thumb behind him at the computer he’d been sitting at. “I already pulled up some open cases of missing persons with abandoned vehicles. I figured that’s the best place to start. No rest for the wicked, right?”

My mouth hangs open as what he says sinks in. He’s here to help me, meaning he believes me. No matter what Suga said, or how outlandish my theory seems, he _believes_ me. For the first time in a while the next breath I take doesn’t feel so lonely.

“Kuroo-,”

“I know,” he breathes, holding a hand up. “We’ll probably get an earful from Suga and I know it’s late but…seeing that girl out there all alone like that. It was awful. I mean, I’ve seen crime scenes before but something was different about her. Like she was trying to tell us something. And then you started talking about your serial killer theory and it made sense. We owe it to her to find this sicko, Hajime. She was trying to tell us not to let it happen again.”

I’m silent for a minute as I let his words sink it. He’s right. He’s _so_ right, and I’m taken aback by the level of ferocity I haven’t seen in him before. Granted we haven’t been partners for very long, but this feels like a brand new Kuroo. “Thank you,” is all I manage to say.

“I’m just doing my job,” he smiles, a sad sort of smile, and reaches out to lightly punch my shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”

***

We manage to work a few hours in peace before anyone else shows up, all of them eyeing us carefully as they get to their own tasks, knowing that Suga would be in to chew us out shortly. And he does, coming in around seven and slamming his travel coffee mug down on the desk above my head.

“Hajime, I _swear_ -,”

“Don’t get mad!” Kuroo says quickly holding his hands up that are still clutching various files. “It’s not entirely his fault. I helped.”

“Tetsurou, I told you to send him home,” Suga sighs, looking like he got an immediate migraine just from looking at us.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I tell him, clipping together a stack of papers and standing, my knees creaking and back popping.

“Apparently you do!” His voice rings out in the office like the reverberations of an explosion, everyone stopping where they are as it hits them. Reports sit half typed, papers held inches away from printer trays, coffee sitting against lips but not entering, the whole floor in a state of frozen time. “Apparently when I say ‘go home and get some rest’ you hear ‘come to the office and work yourself to death’!”

“I’m not-,”

“Didn’t you learn anything last time, Hajime?” His tone softens, anger never able to sit on his features for very long, but my blood boils.

“You can’t hold that against me,” I spit, daring anyone in the office to make eye contact with me, to bring up the one thing they’re all afraid to ask about.

“You know I don’t, but it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He crosses his arms, regret in his eyes from bringing up bad memories, especially in front of the whole department. I take a deep breath, slowly blowing out heated air, anger taking too much of a toll on my tired body.

“It’s your _job_ ,” I stress, making the word stretch out until everyone catches on and awkwardly resumes their work, “to catch criminals. That’s your job, my job, and everyone in this building’s job. That’s what we were here doing all night.”

“Don’t tell me this is about your serial killer theory.”

“It’s not just a theory,” Kuroo interjects, hopping up from his place on the floor with a thick stack of files in his hands, the sleepless night having affected him much less than me since his wasn’t the third in a week. “There’s a lot of evidence here. Enough to open an investigation.”

Suga sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hand out. “Show me what you have.”

A wave of excitement rushes through me like a shot of straight adrenaline. I take the files from Kuroo who shoots me a quick triumphant smile and rifle through them. “First of all we pulled up all of the unresolved missing persons reports in the last thirty years, since we figured the killer couldn’t be much older than that, and then we narrowed it down to those that were spurred by abandoned cars and no evidence of foul play. Basically we found all of the people in this area who seemed to disappear out of nowhere.”

“And what did you find?”

“We found around forty cases from the last seven or so years matching the description,” Kuroo continues, pointing to a list of victim names we complied over my shoulder. “I checked over the reports from friends and family and none of them seemed very responsive. It was as if all of these people were essentially alone without truly being alone. Emotionally unfulfilled.’

“Was there any correlation between the types of victim?” Suga asks, his eyes not betraying any evidence that we have his attention or not. “A specific trait, gender, build, age, anything?”

“Well, not necessarily,” I say, already having checked their descriptions. “They’re pretty mixed up. Both men and women of various builds, not particularly remarkable. They were between the ages of 22 and 30 and all relatively attractive.”

“Attractive?” Suga raises an eyebrow.

“It’s something,” I shrug, silently pleading with him to at least give the theory a chance.

“And what about the signature?”

“We can’t determine that,” Kuroo mutters, deflating a bit beside me. “We only have the one body and we haven’t gotten a report back on it yet.”

“So you’re telling me,” Suga starts, and I hold my breath, knowing full well what’s coming. “That you want me to open a full blown serial killer investigation on a few cold cases and a sticky hunch?”

“No-,”

“Hajime,” he sighs, looking truly apologetic this time. “I know you want to help this girl; I know you want justice for her and all of the other people we could never find. I know you blame yourself, but you have to calm down and come to terms with some things. She’s dead, it’s not your fault, and the best thing you can do right now is get some rest and take care of yourself so you can look at the situation with a clear head. You can’t help anyone like this.”

“But, Suga-,” Kuroo starts, but Suga stops him.

“You too, Tetsurou,” he says, putting a hand affectionately on his shoulder. “You’re the newest member of the team and you want to prove yourself, I get it, but the same advice stands.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I ask, my shoulders slumping under the weight of disappointment. “You think I’m crazy.”

“Of course not. I’m not saying you’re wrong I’m just saying there’s not enough here to start investigating and it’s dangerous to jump the gun with these things.” His parental voice stings against my skin. “But I know that if anyone was going to pick apart a case like this and put a stop to it it would be you, Hajime. And that’s the truth.”

“I _can_ ,” I plead, eyes stinging and breath shallow; desperate. “I can find it, Suga. Whatever you need to be convinced. I just need more _time_.”

“Let us work on this, Lieutenant,” Kuroo adds, eyeing me with worry but letting the passion burn in his own heart. “We’ll still do our regular work but let us keep looking into this on our own time.”

“God, you are _just_ like him,” Suga breathes, looking at Kuroo like he’s a ghost, his face a mixture of forgotten happiness and melancholic warning. “Maybe I shouldn’t have paired you up after all.”

“Sir?”

“He means you and Hajime are too similar,” Akaashi says, appearing as if out of nowhere, sipping from a steaming coffee mug and leaning against a desk next to Suga. I hadn’t even noticed him come in. “Except you’re still at least somewhat rational. Detective Hardass over here is a bad influence on you.”

“That’s not fair, Keiji,” I say, conveying as much betrayal as I can to him in one look.

“It is. You’re going too far,” he tells me, voice even despite the topic. “You’re trying to solve a case that isn’t even a case yet. You’re overworking. You’re killing yourself again and it’s ridiculous. And now you’re pulling Tetsurou into it.”

“He didn’t pull me into it,” Kuroo argues, hands tightening around the papers in his hands, crinkling the edges slightly. “I volunteered. I _want_ to be a part of this case because I believe in it.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem,” Akaashi shrugs, words hitting me like his knuckles straight to my jaw. I open my mouth to reply, to yell and argue or tell them both to fuck off, but no sound comes out.

“Go home,” Suga says softly, sad and almost cooing. “Both of you. Don’t come back in until tomorrow, and then I promise we’ll sit down and look over these files again, okay? And by then we’ll have the report of the found body.”

“But-,”

“It’s that or we’re gonna tie you up in the conference room and play Enya until you sleep,” Akaashi deadpans, taking another sip of coffee.

“Actually I think that’s a better idea, Keiji,” Suga smirks. “At least that way we can make sure he actually sleeps and doesn’t sneak off and work again.”

“Fine! I’ll go,” I grumble, pulling at my hair and handing the files to Akaashi. “Make sure these stay together.”

He nods and takes them, along with the ones Kuroo holds and bends down to carefully scoop up the rest from the floor. “Rest easy, Hajime.”

I don’t answer, just grab my keys from my desk and head to the elevator, holding it for Kuroo as he follows. The trip down is made in silence, and he doesn’t turn to me again until I stop at my car.

“I don’t think it’s such a bad thing,” he says, and I stop, looking at him confused.

“What?”

“Reminding them of you. Working like you. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, and I don’t know why they see it like that. Honestly I’m honored.”

“You shouldn’t be,” I mumble, wondering what he’s getting at and hoping it’s not some ill deserved praise.

“But why not? You’re the best detective in the squad. I’ve never seen _one_ of those guys in there work as hard as you,” he tells me, pointing towards the building and licking his lips as if he’s preparing them for his words to run smoothly. “None of them cares as much as you do. Not to say they don’t care, just not as much. When you look at a case you’re seeing a person, not a crime. I can see it in your eyes, the flame under your ass making you work nonstop until you solve it. It’s inspiring.”

“You’re new,” I sigh, feeling the fatigue touch the edges of my eyes, heavy and burning. “You still see things positively. Give it some time and you’ll understand why the others are like they are.”

“I don’t want to!” He yells suddenly, shaking his head. “You all keep calling me new, and maybe I haven’t been in the force as long as you but I understand passion when I see it. I understand compassion and right from wrong. I’m not stupid. And you all keep referencing ‘last time’ or saying things like ‘not again’ and I get it, something happened before I got here, something bad probably, but I don’t give a shit, Hajime. You’re the best damn cop I’ve ever worked with and I’m going to do my best to help you solve this case. If you want to work on this until your godamned eyes fall out of your head I’m going to be right there with you.”

I’m stunned, looking in the eyes of a passion I’ve long since learned to ignore in the mirror. He holds out a hand when I don’t speak, smiling crookedly. “What do you say, partner? Let’s catch this son of a bitch or die trying. The department be damned.”

I hesitate for a moment as my brain absorbs the moment, its reaction time severely delayed, and take his hand. “Catch them or die trying. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Kuroo beams and I return the expression as best I can before he bids me goodbye and heads to his car, allowing me to climb into my own and let it all sink in. Having someone on your side is worth so much more than it seems, even when it’s just the two of you against an onslaught of overly cautious allies and evasive killers. The odds are stacked against us but we won’t go down alone.

And I think, with every ounce of ourselves up against the world, against senseless depravity and atrocities we still don’t fully know, we might just have a sliver of a chance.

***

I do actually go home, much to Suga’s surprise I’m sure, but I only stay for a few hours until tossing and turning on top of my bed sheets no longer can be passed off as faked relaxation. I think I do sleep at some point, but it’s that kind of sleep that is so close to the edge of the waking world that it feels as if you could reach through the thin veil separating them and actually touch it. I do feel better after a long and excruciatingly hot shower, but eventually the walls of my house seems to grow closer and closer, condensing the air into something thick and stagnant and making me want to do nothing more but leave.

So I do, only getting as far as the front seat of my car before realizing I have nowhere to go. Suga will have my head if I show back up in the office and a Suga any angrier than what I saw this morning is not something you ever want to encounter, and with Hikari in school at this time (even though it’s not like I can just show up and see her on a weekday if I wanted to) I’m completely alone, letting the summer sun sifting through the my windshield burn against my cheeks. The inside of the car is dry and smothering, who knows how many degrees hotter than the outside air, but it’s still better than the leering claustrophobia of the house.

I turn the key and start the engine, pulling out of the driveway and turning onto the street just for an excuse to turn on the air conditioning and letting it dry the sweat beading down the sides of my face and down the back of my neck. My hands turn the wheel and my feet work the pedals but my mind is elsewhere, too occupied with ghosts and bloodstained clues in manila folders to realize where I’m going, so I’m honestly surprised when I end up in a parking space…outside of the Target.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumble to no one but myself since, after all, I’m the one who came here however subconsciously. My hand is on the key again; ready to turn, when a thought stops me. Maybe heading inside isn’t such a bad idea; there’s no guarantee that Oikawa is working now but with my only friends occupied at the station I don’t have many other options, and I don’t want to stay alone with my thoughts that won’t stop whirring against my skull with that same scathing frequency as a dentist’s drill. And maybe I found him a little interesting, and maybe his company wasn’t _so_ bad. Just maybe.

The asphalt burns even through the thick soles of my tennis shoes, and I feel naked in my faded jeans and black AC/DC shirt, the familiar spot against my thigh where my badge usually sits empty and feeling much too light.

Stepping through the automatic doors fills me with an almost immediate sense of regret as the smell of popcorn and cleaning spray hits my nose and I see nothing but a sea of cargo short wearing middle aged men and mother’s pulling carts of sticky handed children grabbing for whatever hangs from the shelves they pass. I wonder if the stereotypical ‘dad getup’ comes with age, and if someday when I hit my mid thirties or so I’ll wake up thinking tucked in polo shirts and tube socks are cool and Hikari won’t want to be seen in public with me anymore. I guess we’ll see.

I scan the registers as I walk by them, trying to seem nonchalant, but I don’t see Oikawa’s familiar brown curls poking above the heads of customers in too big of a hurry. Of course, it’s not like he spends every waking minute here. Some people work normal hours and go home afterwards; I tend to forget that. Shrugging off the feeling of disappointment I don’t want to admit to I make my way to the electronics section, slipping between the narrow aisles of cheap DVDs and taking a deep breath. This section of the store is always rather empty and almost feels like a step outside of reality, like interstate gas stations or public parks at night time, a place on the edge of existence where time doesn’t flow the same way.

I run my hand along the shelves, looking at the bright colors and dynamic action shots that form the front covers of the movies but not really seeing them. I’m not sure how long I stand there, just feeling the cold cellophane on my fingertips and letting it ground me. I end up grabbing a cartoon to watch with Hikari this weekend, something older with a little girl and a blue dog or something on the front, and the new Godzilla for myself even though I have no idea when I’ll get a chance to watch it.

I take them both to the checkout, finding two cashiers playing Mario kart behind the registers, a blond one with dark roots slumped on the ground and a bright flaming orange haired one sitting cross legged on the counter. The blond one barely moves, lazily pressing buttons and moving his fingers only slightly, but his eyes follow the movement on the screen like a cat, quick and attentive. The smaller one, however, puts his whole body into every movement, orange hair falling over his eyes and he turns his DS like a steering wheel and shoves his shoulders in the direction he wants to turn.

“Kenmaaaa,” the energetic one whines, dropping the game in his lap as the little cars pass the finish line. “That’s the fifth time in a row!”

“You keep choosing courses I’m good at,” the blond one, Kenma, shrugs.

“But you’re good at all of them!”

Kenma only hums in response as the other cashier starts to rifle through a pile of games. “Let’s play something else.”

I clear my throat and they both spin, staring at me in shock. “Ah! Hello, sir, how may we help you?” Kenma asks, standing up from the floor and looking up without quite meeting my eyes.

“Just the movies,” I tell him, and he slides the cases across the scanner, pressing the appropriate buttons on his end, hands slightly shaking. He tells me my total and I pull out the money, handing it to him and trying to look as least menacing as possible, feeling sort of bad for scaring them. He hands me the bag but as I start to turn the other cashier calls after me, voice desperate and eyes wide.

“Please don’t tell Shimizu we were playing games again!”

“Shouyou, _shut up_ ,” Kenma hisses, shooting a glare at his friend with those thin pupils.

“Shimizu? What?” I ask, having no idea what they’re talking about.

“Our boss!” Shouyou continues, gesturing wildly to follow his words. “She’s about this tall, long dark hair, mole by her mouth, glasses, super pre-mph!” Kenma clamps a hand over his mouth to shut him up and I can’t help but smile just a little.

“Don’t worry,” I tell them, waving as I walk away. “If I see her I’ll be sure to stay away.”

“Thanks, mister!” Shouyou calls behind me, having freed himself from Kenma’s grasp. I guess Oikawa isn’t the only weirdo who works here.

I pass by the front registers again on my way out, telling myself it isn’t for any particular reason, and I consider buying a bag of popcorn from an overwhelmed looking giant man with a long ponytail stuffed into a hair net at the food court just to have something to do when I see a familiar face pop out of the narrow hallway near the front doors. Oikawa pushes one of those big red cleaning carts in front of him, stacked high with spray bottles and paper towels and filled with dirty mop water, a thick and almost sinister frown plastered on his face. I feel like Christmas came early.

He doesn’t notice me as I saunter up to him, grinning at the dirty rags clutched in his hands. “So they have you on bathroom duty now?” I tease, and he jumps, looking at me as if I was about to attack him.

“Hajime! What’re you doing here?” He asks, dropping the towel and bending down quickly to pick it back up.

“Shopping, obviously,” I tell him, dropping my excitement at the weird look of fear in his eyes. I couldn’t have startled him that badly, could I? “And I told you to call me Iwaizumi.”

“And _I_ told _you_ we should hang out sometime,” he says, covering that cloudy fear up and replacing it with well disguised interest. “But we still haven’t.”

“Works been…hectic,” I tell him, and I think for a millisecond I see him wince at the words. “Speaking of work, I didn’t know they demoted you to janitor.”

“Ugh,” he groans, dropping all of his hidden emotions for authentic exasperation. “They didn’t, but Tobio had to go and get sick and now there’s no one else to clean the bathrooms when little boys throw up M&M ice cream and Dr. Pepper all over the floor.” As if on cue a young boy with watery eyes shuffles out of the hallway and through the front doors with a concerned looking mother clutching his arm.

“No one? What about the two kids in electronics playing video games?” I ask, pointing my thumb back he way I came. “You can’t need both of them back there. Oh, and also don’t tell Shimizu I told you that.”

He eyes me for a moment, confused, but just shakes his head. “Kenma is head of electronics so he has to stay back there, and let’s just say we don’t trust Hinata with mop water anymore. It’s safer to keep him back there.”

“Well I, uh,” I mumble, feeling awkward as the conversation draws to a close. “I see you’re busy. I should get going.”

“Wait,” He calls as I start to leave. “Hajime, you’re off today, aren’t you?”

“How’d you guess,” I sigh, sticking a hand in my empty jeans pocket.

“I…,” he starts, biting his lip and looking to the side. There’s something different about him. Something subdued and silent, like the real him is buried under layers of exhaustion and muffled sounds. Or maybe this _is_ the real him, though that’s hard to believe when I can see a secret sitting in the set of his jaw. “My shift is over in ten minutes. I need to put this cart away and wash up and change clothes then I’m done. Do you want to grab some coffee? I know a good place close by”

I look at my watch, telling me it’s a little past noon, but considering my late night and restless sleep I guess it’s sort of morning time for me. “Yeah, sure. I could use some coffee.”

“Great!” He beams, and I think at least part of it is genuine. “I’ll call you when I’m heading out. My friend drove me in today so I’ll just tell her I’m riding home with you.”

“Bu-,”

“See you in a bit!” He calls, already pushing the cart away and towards a big red employees only door, and I’m left once again with the feeling that I’ve lost control of the situation. Of course this time I agreed to it but I can’t help but feel that when he’s around he takes charge, and my usually imposing personality, the one that makes people I don’t even know look to me for leadership, melts away and I let him do as he pleases.

But maybe I should just let him. Maybe it’s good for me to follow for once instead of lead. Maybe I should let him take my hand and take me wherever he wants to go, far away from a land of ghosts and death and injustice. I might even get to see a glimpse of who he really is beneath that mask. Who knows, I might even like what I see.

***

The coffee shop Oikawa takes me to turns out to be a little hole in the wall café downtown and nowhere close to the Target, though I can’t complain because it’s run by a sweet old lady and the coffee is outstanding. I start out with just the first brew on the extensive list of flavors but after two cups the woman offers to bring me something she thinks I’ll like based on how much cream and sugar I use, and I think she might be magic because it’s spot on. I don’t even know what half the words in the title mean but I know that shitty instant coffee will never be tolerable to me again.

Oikawa asks me about work and I tell him there’s not much I can talk about except that the station is in an uproar and I’m one step away from my ass hanging on a plaque above the lieutenant’s desk. He asks about my ex wife and I tell him instead about how I had someone come finish the tree house and Hikari loved it, though she wasn’t happy to hear the icky guy helped make it. He asks so many things, so many questions about me and things I haven’t thought about for years, and I mostly answer them. I try to ask him similar things, but he somehow manages to turn everything back around on me, learning more than he’s offering up.

I’m not sure if I mind though, because the more I speak the more I notice small things about him. I notice how long his eyelashes are, and how they brush against his cheek when he blinks, like butterfly wings swiping across pale white meadows of grass. I notice the way he leans forward, chin resting on his palm, wrist delicately bent, and it seems so much more genuine than the forced social cues I’ve seen from him before. It’s as if there’s a realness to him, but an apprehensive realness, since I can still see a reluctance lurking beneath his bones, like across the table behind a mist of small talk is the closest he dares to come to me.

I notice different things too, like the scratches on his knuckles, dark and fresh, and the thin white scars scattered on the skin of his arms, some longer than others, some jagged. I remember him mentioning having a cat, so that must be the source. There’s also the way he grits his teeth, and how he seems to hold his breath in between inhales. Everything about his screams openly friendly and completely terrified at the same time. There is a riddle in his lungs and a puzzle in his features but I don’t know where to look for the solution.

“So, it must be hard, right?” He asks, liquid brown eyes solidifying as he speaks.

“What?” I set my coffee down, wondering if the old woman chose it to exactly match Oikawa’s irises. 

“Police work. Seeing murder scenes and talking with the families of victims,” his gaze flicks down, blocked by those long lashes. “Not always catching the bad guy.”

“First of all I don’t believe in ‘bad guys’,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair and laying one long arm on the table top, noticing for a moment how different our skin tones are; caramel next to milk and honey.

“No? You don’t think some people are just born for evil?” He looks almost expectant, like something important rests on this answer.

“That would be a monster, and I don’t believe in those. Or the boogeyman or creatures under the bed or anything like that. I think it’s simple, people are all born the same way, and there are paths you choose that lead you towards good or bad deeds. And there are always opportunities to change, always splits in the path to lead you somewhere new.”

He moves his tongue around his mouth, thinking on my words, tasting them. I take another sip of coffee, watching. “But what if-,”

He’s cut off by loud guitar music as my phone vibrates in my pocket and I scramble to free it from my jeans. “Shit, sorry, hold on,” I tell him, checking the name and groaning. “I have to take this.”

“Go ahead,” he says; waving his hand and leaning back, moving his arms in closer around his chest.

“Narumi,” I answer, sighing into the speaker and wincing at the static. “Hey.”

“I need a favor,” she says immediately, not bothering with greetings. I look up, expecting to see Oikawa watching with curious eyes but he looks down, paying no mind to anything around him as he chews on his lip and rubs his thumbs over the rim of his coffee mug.

“What is it?”

“Do you think you can pick Hikari up from school again? I know you’re busy but-,”

“And take her to your mother?” I practically spit, feeling heat rising in the back of my head.

“No, actually,” she begins, and the heat melts away, replaced by ice in the base of my gut. “My mom is sick today, and my boss is making me stay out of town tonight so I need you to keep her and take her to school in the morning.”

“I get to keep her all night?” I ask, bolting up in my seat, waiting for Narumi to pull this feeling out from under me like a rug and take it away.

“Yeah. I know you’re busy and it’s against the schedule and everything but this all came up so suddenly and I don’t have any other choice.”

“No it’s fine. Perfect, even. I’m off today so everything works out fine.” I’m almost giddy, beaming when Oikawa finally looks up curiously and even the old woman behind the counter tears her eyes away from the trashy story she’s watching on the tiny box TV in the corner.

“Alright, thank you. I have to go,” Narumi says, sounding tired and upset that she had to go back on something she was so stern about, but I can’t be bothered to care. She hangs up and I turn, meeting the curious eyes around the room.

“Is everything okay?” Oikawa asks, eyes wide over his coffee mug.

“Everything is amazing. We have to go pick up my daughter from school.” I pick up my mug and down the rest of my coffee, carrying it to the front counter and thanking the old woman for her delicious suggestions. “I’ll take you home afterwards.”

“You’re a strange person, Iwaizumi,” Oikawa tells me, repeating words I’ve heard from him before as he struggles to keep up with my flurry of movement and climbs into the car after I already have it running.

“I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you,” I retort, pulling off of the curb on onto the street, mapping out a route in my head to get from this unfamiliar part of town to Hikari’s school.

“It is,” he whispers, mostly to himself as he turns to the window, still reflecting on something. “That’s the problem.”

***

“So let me get this straight,” Oikawa says, sitting up in his seat with more of the sassy pep I was expecting from him, eyes flashing like an animal presented with prey. “She keeps you from seeing your daughter all the time until it’s convenient for her to _allow_ you to see the kid?”

We’re sitting outside the elementary school, parked with the windows up and the air conditioner running, waiting for the bell to ring and school to end. I told him only what he needed to know about the custody agreement for my actions to make sense, but he seemed much more appalled than I expected. “Basically,” I sigh, turning the radio just a few notches louder to give my hands something to do. “There’s not much I can do about it right now though.”

“Why’s that?” He turns in his seat, pulling his long legs up so he can cross them and face me fully. His jeans are immaculate, dark and tight and basically the opposite of the ten year old pair I’m wearing, and even his plain powder blue shirt is neat and new looking. I look like an old burnout who hasn’t realized grunge is over and he looks like a put together human adult. Maybe it’s time for a shopping trip.

“For one she has more custody than I do, which in the eyes of the courts means she has more authority than me, and with work as hectic as it has been its sort of better for Hikari to spend more time with her mother,” I tell him, watching him lean forward with interest in my peripheral but avoiding making eye contact. I’m not even sure why I’m telling him any of this in the first place. “Also you’ve never met my ex wife but if you had you’d know only a man with a death wish would pick a fight with her.”

“From what I hear you’ve done it pretty often.”

“Maybe I have a death wish.”

He cocks his head to the side, considering my words for a moment, and I check the time again. I was in such a hurry I got us here almost half an hour early, and there was still about ten before the bell rang. He lets out a long whistle and pulls his knees up to his chest, turning to look out of the windshield and watch the other parents file in towards the front gate.

“Can I say something?” He asks, which I find rather odd coming from him since he’s never shown any signs of thinking before he speaks.

“Go for it,” I mumble, fiddling with the radio again. I find some random heavy metal song and let it play.

“Your ex wife sounds like a royal bitch.”

Before I know what’s happening I’m leaning over the center console with a fistful of powder blue and eye to eye with those melted chocolate eyes, teeth clenched and lungs burning. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about my wife like that.”

He doesn’t even flinch, just places a hand over my fist and stares back. “ _Ex_ wife,” he corrects me, and it takes all of my strength not to punch him is his pretty face. “And all I know about her is what you’ve told me so maybe I’m not the problem. By the way you’re stretching out my shirt.”

I let go and lean back, exhaling deeply and imagining all of the heat on my skin exiting with my breath. I still haven’t dropped that habit, of acting rashly and with too much anger. Haven’t quite figured how to breathe first and act accordingly. As Narumi would say, some things you just can’t change.

“Narumi is a great woman, and a damn fine mother,” I say, staring forward and ignoring the way Oikawa purposefully dusts off his shirt front. “That’s all I have to say.”

“Alright,” he says, raising his eyebrows and running a hand through his hair. “It’s a sensitive subject. Noted.” I ignore him, willing the clock to go faster, but he continues. “You know, I wouldn’t take you as a rough kind of guy. I always figured you were a big submissive kitten underneath. Like if someone scratched behind your ear you’d purr, or if they rubbed your-,”

“Shut the _fuck_ up oh my _god_ ,” I growl, hating the way my cheeks burn at his stupid words. “I’m going to walk up to the gate. Sit here and try not to make a fool of yourself.” I push open the door and climb out, the summer heat feeling cool against my face. I don’t know why I react so strongly to his words, not matter what kind, but I need to keep it under control.

For a person who’s been described as hard to get close to for my entire life he’s cracked my shell in record time. This is, technically, only the second time we’ve spent time together but time with him seems to move so much faster than with anyone else. I feel like I’ve known him for years, been building this basis of familiarity for so long and yet I still don’t know much about him. But it’s almost eerie the way I look into his eyes and see someone who knows me. It’ not a friendship in the way Akaashi or Suga are my friends, but more a mutual understanding. An inherent knowing that I can’t explain.

The bell rings and students spill from the doors before I reach the gate, caught in an oncoming flood of chest height children and the smell of cafeteria food and chocolate milk. The sea seems to flow around me, kids looking up to see the ever present glare on my face and steering clear, clinging closer to their friends’ arms and holding their breath. A little girl looks up at me, maybe a year or so older than Hikari with blonde pigtails and eyes wide and afraid. I wink at her, trying my best to smile and she squeaks, running to catch up with her friends and leaning in to whisper something to them.

“Daddy?” My daughter’s familiar voice cuts through the crowd as she pushes between the bigger kids to the empty spot they form around me. “You’re not in your work clothes.”

She cocks her head at the sight of my ratty t-shirt and looks up at me with curiosity in her gaze. “Nope,” I tell her, scooping her up easily and turning back the way I came. “I’m off of work for today.”

“Did you get in trouble?” she asks, settling in my arms and hanging hers around my shoulders.

“No…,”

“Did Mr. Suga yell at you again?”

“So how was your day?” I ask, hoping to distract her. She sighs, too smart to fall for it, but drops the subject anyway.

“We read a book about a cat learning to tie his shoes and painted things to math our colors,” she says, with less excitement than she usually shows. I’m about to ask if she’s feeling well when she speaks again. “Daddy? Do I have to go to grandma’s house again today?”

Her words are soft and sad but my heart soars. “Nope, you get to come home with me today.”

“Really!?” She squeals, immediately perking up, her hands tightening around my shoulders.

“Yep. And you get to stay the night too. I’ll take you to school in the morning and then Mommy will pick you up tomorrow.”

She doesn’t respond, just hugs me tight, smiling wide with perfect little white teeth contrasting with her skin only a few shades lighter than my own. We reach the car and I set her down, stopping before I open the door. “Uh, my friend is with us so try to be nice until we drive him home, okay?”

“Your friend?” She asks, trying to peer through the window excitedly. “Is it Akaashi?”

“No,” I mumble opening the door and letting her climb in, but she just drops her backpack on the asphalt stares.

“Icky Guy?” It takes all of my strength to suppress a laugh from both Hikari’s look of absolute disgust and Oikawa’s offended gasp.

“Well good afternoon to you too princess.” He retorts, a hand over his chest in the same place I’d grabbed not ten minutes ago.

“Daddy, I thought you said your _friend_ was here.”

“Yeah, well,” I shrug, ushering her into her booster seat and strapping her in. “He’s something.”

The two of them have some sort of staring contest as I climb back into the driver seat and move gently through the built up traffic of the school parking lot, feeling much better than I had before. “Daddy, Icky Guy is looking at me with his weird face make him stop.”

“You heard her,” I chuckle, Watching as Oikawa harrumphs and turns back the right way in his seat, clicking the belt in place as we make it onto the street.

“Just so you know,” he starts, pulling down the sun visor so he can see Hikari through the tiny mirror. “My name is not _Icky Guy_ , it’s Tooru.”

“Icky Tooru,” she laughs, kicking her feet against her booster seat. “That’s even better!”

“Your kid is a bully,” he sighs, pushing the visor back up and turning to me.

“Nah, you’re just sensitive,” I tell him, trying not to laugh again. “By the way where do you live?”

He starts to explain how to get to his house, the route clear in my mind as he names the streets, when Hikari interrupts us. “Can we go mini golfing?”

“What?” I ask, her words not registering with driving directions flowing into one ear.

“I want to go mini golfing like we did that one time with Akaashi and Bokuto,” she repeats, looking up excitedly through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, sure thing, kiddo,” I tell her, turning onto one of the streets Oikawa mentioned. “Right after we drop Oikawa off, okay?”

“I want Icky Tooru to come too,” she says, catching us both off guard.

“Huh?” Oikawa turns to look at Hikari surprised, but she just sticks her tongue out at him.

“Well? What do you say?” I ask, laughing again at how offended he looks.

He throws his hands up and shrugs. “You know what? What the hell. Let’s go play some mini golf.”

***

The mini golf course is surprisingly not crowded, though the heat is almost unbearable. The sun glares off of metal railings and sizzles on plaster castles, reflecting onto the miserable people below. The only thing that gets me to walk into that hellscape with a smile on my face is the way Hikari jumps and laughs, pulling me by the hand up to the window to pay for the clubs and golf balls.

“Alright, alright,” I say, handing the clubs to her and Oikawa by the entrance to the different courses. “So do you guys want to do fairytale, western, or pirate ship?”

Hikari cranes her neck to see the different structures jutting out of each course, contemplating her decision as if the world depended on it. She hops up, pointing at a mini decrepit looking wood cabin and turns to me. “That one! The one with the scary ghost house!”

“Western it is,” I say, stepping in the direction of the course she chose.

“Everyone knows fairytale is the best course,” Oikawa mumbles behind us.

“Then you go play that one,” Hikari replies, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Hey, you’re the one who invited me,” he snaps back, raising his eyebrows.

“Yup, I did,” she smiles, stepping to the side. “So swing.”

Oikawa steps up to the first hole and sets his ball down, stretching out his arms and spinning the club around. “Watch and learn, princess.” He takes a few practice swings before hitting the ball, sending it perfectly down the plastic green turf and straight into the hole. He lifts the club up and blows on the end as if it’s a gun and winks. “And that’s how it’s done.”

“It’s only the first hole,” I growl, moving over so Hikari can go next. “You just got lucky.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Hikari bends over her club, trying to extend her arms out straight but not quite tall enough. She grips it as far down as she can and swings, sending the ball to the left where it bounces off of the side and lands somewhere on the edge at the end of the green. A normal parent would comfort their child at this point, but Hikari is no normal child. She glares at the ball and marches forward, stomping the entire way, and gets back into position over the ball, her arms held slightly straighter than the previous swing.

“Maybe you should give her a hand,” Oikawa says, leaning over to me as Hikari takes her fifth swing and sends the ball right past the hole.

“Just watch,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off of the determination on her little face. “She’ll get it.”

And she does; a few minutes later the ball makes it into the hole with a plastic thud and she throws her hands into the air still clutching her club and smacking it into one of the plastic lights along the sidewalk. “I made it!”

“She does better if you let her struggle and do it herself,” I tell Oikawa, and he nods, both of us walking forward to congratulate her. On my turn I hit the ball much too hard, sending it up and onto the sidewalk and into a bush. Oikawa smirks at me, holding up his scorecard with a neat 1 written in the square and I realize this is going to be a long game.

The next few holes continue in much the same fashion; Oikawa easily making holes in one and getting cockier by the minute, Hikari trying her hardest but just not getting the right grasp on the club, and my score growing more and more with every frustrated stroke.

Hole seven consists of the house Hikari had seen from the front, and a narrow ramp leading into the front door connected to a tube that spits the ball out close to the hole depending on if you make it in or not. She steps up, hunching over her club again, tongue poking out between her lips, but Oikawa stops her before she swings.

“Hey,” I hiss reaching out to grab his arm and pull him back but he strides forward easily, bending down next to Hikari and speaking softly.

“For this one you’re going to want to hit the ball as straight as possible, so you need to keep your arms from bending,” he tells her, and surprisingly she looks at him, considering his words.

“But I’m too short.”

“Here, try this,” he tells her, setting his club down and moving to her side, careful not to scrape his jeans on the dirty concrete. He helps her grip the club higher while stepping away from it, letting it extend far away from her body but keeping her elbows from bending. “Go ahead.”

Hikari nods and lines up her swing, determination in her small shoulders as she pulls back the club and smacks it into the ball, watching it roll straight into the little wooden door and pop back out at the bottom of the hill, gliding perfectly into the hole. She practically screams, jumping up and clapping, squealing with laughter as she turns back to Oikawa and lifts her hands for a high five. “I did it, Tooru, I did it! A hole in one!”

He smirks down at her, a hand on his hip. “Oh, so it isn’t Icky Tooru anymore?”

“Not right now,” she laughs, crawling down he small hill to pick her ball up out of the hole and climbing back up. “Thank you.”

“No problem, princess,” he smiles softly, ruffling her hair. “It was painful watching you struggle so much.” She giggles under his hand and slaps it away, and I realize I haven’t breathed in the last minute or so, sucking air in heavily through my nose. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but seeing him crouched next to Hikari, speaking with such a soft patient voice, was something I never expected to see from him, and it punched me in the gut in a way I haven’t felt in years. In a…fluttery way. A warm cinnamon spice and honey kind of way.

“Daddy, did you see that? I did it!” I cough, forcing the new air through my lungs and into my veins.

“Yeah! I saw the whole thing. Good job, baby girl,” I beam, giving her a high five when she bounds up to me.

She motions for me to lean down so she can whisper in my ear as Oikawa sets his ball down and starts to map out his swing. “Maybe Tooru is kind of okay.”

“You might be right,” I whisper back, “but don’t tell him that.” She nods, flashing me a thumbs up to show she understands and then giggles again. We both watch as he hits his ball, perfect as usual, and leans on the thin metal gate to watch it pop out onto the green below. I don’t have to look to know it makes it in the hole, the loud plastic thud meeting my ears confirming it.

“Well I guess you’re going to have to step up your game, Hajime,” Oikawa winks, turning his head to the side. “You can’t be the only one without a hole in one here.” He goes to let go of the fence and walk back over to us, but his hand catches on the rusty metal, tearing a jagged line down the meaty skin of his palm.

He doesn’t notice at first, and I’m halfway through asking if he’s ok when he feels the warm liquid drip down his wrist, his eyes going wide and face immediately turning green. It’s as if the sight flips a switch in him and he turns into someone else entirely.

“Oh no,” he breathes, touching the cut gently with his other hand, breath getting shallow and pallor lightening by the second, all color draining from his face. “Oh fuck, oh shit.”

“Hey, calm down it’s just a cut,” I say, stepping forward, but his eyes are terrified when he looks up and I freeze. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling his shirt up to wrap around his hand, crimson soaking into the powder blue.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he mutters, sprinting back through the course the way we came. I watch silently, completely stunned until I feel Hikari’s hand tugging at the back of my shirt.

“Is he going to be okay, Daddy?” She looks up with big tears ready to spill over her lashes, his reaction making it seem so much more serious and scarier in her eyes, not to mention my own.

I bend down and put on my best calm parent face. “He’ll be fine,” I say, clasping her little hands in mine. “It’s just a cut.”

She nods, but I don’t think either of us are convinced, but we continue with the game anyway, staying silent through most of it except for her occasional shout of excitement and my congratulating her.

We’re almost on the last hole when Oikawa shows back up, his blue shirt slung over his shoulder and a pink one with the name of the golf course on the front in its place. His hand is bandaged but his skin is still pale white, and his hands shake at his sides.

“Are you okay?” Hikari asks, golf ball forgotten as she sees him approaching. He puts on a fake smile and nods.

“I’m spectacular, princess. How’s the game going? Are you winning?”

“Yeah. Daddy isn’t very good,” she answers with much less pep than before, knowing that the atmosphere has changed. She goes back to the game and I turn to Oikawa.

“What happened?” I mean it to be soft but it comes out much harsher than anticipated.

“Oh, nothing,” he shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Sliced my hand pretty good but they have a nurse who patched me up. Very sweet lady. We’re going to go get drinks some time.”

Ignoring that last part I narrow my eyes at him, wanting to push the subject, to see what the big deal was, if maybe he has a phobia of blood or something, but the cold solid look to his eyes makes me drop it. I guess it isn’t my business anyway.

We finish the game rather quickly afterwards, the excitement and lightness to the air gone and replaced by the muggy heat around us, and I’m glad when we all climb back into the car and I turn the air conditioner on. Oikawa tells me the way to his house again and the three of us sit in silence with the radio playing softly until I pull up in front of his house.

“This is where you live? It’s huge,” I say, looking through the windshield and up towards the house, a big white structure with huge windows and what looks like old lace curtains on the inside.

“I get that a lot,” he chuckles, opening the door and stepping out of the car. “I’ll see you around, Hajime. Or I’ll call and bother you if I feel like it.”

“Sounds terrible,” I reply, soft and without malice.

“Farewell, princess,” he waves to Hikari, bending his good hand in front of him and bowing. “Until we meet again.”

“Bye, Icky Tooru!” She calls, giggling again.

“Again with that,” he mumbles as he shuts the door, turning to make his way up the font sidewalk and to the door. He turns and waves one last time as we pull away, and I think, for the first time since meeting him, I really do hope he’ll call.

***

Suga doesn’t talk to me when I come in the next morning, bright and early with a spring in my step, until the afternoon when he calls me into his office. He’s sitting somberly with his hands folded, nodding to the seat across from him to tell me to sit down and making worry instantly sprout in my chest.

“Suga, what’s this about?” I ask tentatively, pulling the chair out but not sitting.

“Don’t panic,” he says, seeing the familiar signs on my face. “Just take a seat, Hajime.” I do as he says and he sighs heavily, his thin shoulders rising and falling easily with the movement. “We got the report back from the autopsy of the girl from the woods.”

“And?” I ask, sitting forward suddenly and bumping my knees on the desk. “Ah, fuck. What did they find?”

“Well, first of all, the cause of death,” He winces, flipping open the packet of papers in front of him. Never in my seven years of working under him have I seen Suga get squeamish over a murder case, so when he gulps before reading I know it’s going to be terrible. “She had her, uh, heart removed, and they determined it was done antemortem.”

“The killer cut her heart out while she was still alive,” I breathe, more a repeat of the statement than a question. My stomach turns. “Anything else?”

“She had some bruising on her arms and legs that suggested she was tied down or secured somehow, but nothing else was done to the body. No postmortem mangling or defiling,” Suga answers, each word causing bile to rise in my throat. He flips to another page and continues. “As for evidence, they didn’t find any trace on the killer on her.”

“What?” I ask, skin going cold and eyes flying up to meet his. “Nothing?”

“No,” he replies, almost a whisper. “They checked under her fingernails, on her clothes, in the…chest cavity. Nothing. Not even a stray hair.”

“So what you’re telling me,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose and holding back the fire that threatens to burst through my pores. “Is that this body is useless to us.”

“For tracking down a killer, yes,” Suga replies, watching me with those calm knowing eyes. “But a missing girl gets to be buried properly and a family no longer has to worry if she’s out hurting or not.”

“A girl without a heart,” I bite back, standing and pushing my chair away. “God fucking _damnit_.”

“Hajime,” he breathes, closing the packet of papers and setting them down. “This might be a dead end, and I know it won’t get you down, but I need you to not let it get you fired up either. Your passion is admirable, and I respect your dedication, but I need you to keep it under control this time, okay?”

I barely hear him over my own thinking, my mind spinning a mile a minute and trying to figure out anything they could’ve missed on the report, any dark corner a scrap of DNA might be hiding. Something that could bring this killer to justice. I have so many questions and no way to find the answers, so many possibilities screaming at me.

“Why was she exposed like that?” I ask, and Suga drops his head, knowing his warnings are falling on deaf ears. “If the killer is leaving their victims in exposed holes why haven’t we found the rest of them? And if they aren’t leaving them all like that then why was she special?”

“Hajime, please.”

“Were they trying to reclaim the body? Did they come back to dig her back up but couldn’t get her out? What purpose would that serve? She definitely wasn’t out there long enough for the ground to erode that much naturally. Maybe animals got to her, but there weren’t any bite marks or torn flesh on the corpse.”

“Lieutenant?” The door to the office opens and we both spin around, finding a wide eyed Kuroo sticking his head through the small space. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Come on in, Tetsurou,” he sighs, waving his hand as if to pull him into the office.

“The, uh, search team found something at the dig site,” he says, stepping fully into the room and dropping a heavy metal bag onto the desk with a wet squishing sound. “This was in the river right next to where the body was found.”

Suga stands up and we both bend over the bag as he carefully tugs at the zipper, opening the flaps to reveal a pile of different weapons, knifes and shears and sharp metallic instruments I’ve never seen before, along with clothes and gloves, all soaked with river water.

“Oh god,” Suga breathes, using a tissue to pick up a particularly menacing looking machete from the bag. “This is insane.”

“They’re just starting to rust,” I say, looking closely at the point where the metal melds with the rubber handle, small deposits of copper colored growth darkening the shine. “They only could’ve been in there for a day or two.”

“What does that mean?” Kuroo asks, watching us both with a mixture of curiosity and terror at the prospect of our nightmares coming true.

“It means they were probably put there the night the body was found,” Suga whispers, putting the machete back in the bag and zipping it up.

“It means we probably interrupted the killer and they panicked. It means they were there at the same time we were,” I say, clenching my fists so hard I can feel my fingernails digging into the flesh of my palm. “It means they were right under our fucking noses and we let them get away.”

“We can’t know that-,”

“Why else would someone throw all of this into the fucking _river_ , Suga?” I yell, watching Kuroo take a reflexive step back beside me. “Look at this stuff! This isn’t some small time criminal tool bag, this is the real deal. This is someone who knows what they’re doing and has been doing it for a long time with no intention of stopping.”

“Hajime, there’s not enough-,”

“Not enough evidence?” I cut him off, raising my eyebrows. “That’s bullshit, Suga, and you know it.”

“Listen, I believe you,” he says, laying a hand on the desk and leaning forward, piercing me with his eyes that hold the earth beneath their shining surface. “But we have to go by the book. You know that.”

“Not this time,” I spit, and I have to keep myself from wincing as I watch it hit him like a knife in the chest. “Fuck the book. C’mon Kuroo.”

Kuroo follows me as I throw the office door open and step out, climbing onto the closest desk I can find. “Everyone listen up!”

“Hajime, _STOP_ ,” Suga yells, desperate as he follows me out, but I ignore him and continue.

“There is a serial killer loose in Sendai City, and as of now I am officially opening a full scale investigation. This is top priority. Let’s catch this sick son of a bitch.”


	5. Peroxide - Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a disease  
> Deep inside me  
> Makes me feel uneasy baby  
> I can't live without you   
> Tell me what I am supposed to do about it  
> Keep your distance from it  
> Don't pay no attention to me  
> I got a disease  
> I think that I'm sick  
> But leave me be while my world is coming down on me  
> You taste like honey, honey  
> Tell me can I be your honey
> 
> \- Matchbox Twenty

The bandage lifts off of my hand easily; no resistance and no tug at the skin here the wound and fabric have fused. Just one smooth motion and the cut is free, glaring pink and angry up at me. It’s starting to close, two halves returning to a whole like they belong, but the sight still turns my stomach.

I ignore the wave of nausea and uncap the brown bottle on the bathroom sink, sloppily pouring the rest of the contents over my hand. It burns, and I let it; watching it bubble white and frothy along the jagged line of the cut. I start to feel better as I imagine it cleansing me, the peroxide seeping all the way down to my core, burning and purifying as it goes.

The memory of the golf course has been replaying in my head for days. The cold feeling in my chest as I looked down, finding my skin torn and dripping from that rusty gate. The way Iwaizumi and Hikari had looked at me with such worry in their eyes, identical eyes, as if they actually cared if I was okay. The way they knew I wasn’t.

That was the worst part by far, the fact that I _wasn’t_ okay. 

I hadn’t told them about how I ran to the dingy disgusting bathroom with its fluorescent lights and graffiti marking who and who will be ‘together forever’ to empty my churning stomach into a toilet that probably hadn’t been properly cleaned in years. They didn’t know that the only reason I’d ended up in that nurse woman’s office was because some little boy walked in to find me sitting under the sink with my bloody shirt wrapped around my hand and decided to ‘help’.

They didn’t know about how I had to resist the urge to do something far worse to the nurse than cut her hand right then and there on the purple confetti print carpet.

But I hadn’t. I somehow managed to keep calm, imagining the look of horror on Iwaizumi’s face if he had walked in to find me with scarlet droplets falling from my face and a wicked gleam to my eyes. I don’t know whether his first instinct would be to block Hikari’s sight or slap me in irons. I think I’d prefer the former.

I’ve never felt this way before, but I don’t think I’d want Hikari to ever see that side of me. The true side. Iwaizumi yes, eventually, but not Hikari.

Except that I haven’t thought about it; about my plans to take him apart and find what makes him tick. In the hours we spent together yesterday not once did my mind wander to sinking a knife in his skin. For once I was worried about the whole instead of the pieces that make it, and it pisses me off beyond belief.

I grit my teeth as I run cool water over the cut, rinsing off the peroxide before wrapping a fresh bandage over it. Leaning over the sink I look up, catching sight of my pale and sweaty face, watching shaky breaths leave my throat. I look down at the clean white bandage and squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to calm down.

There’s something about him, Iwaizumi, that is so real that it scares me. Something deeper than his humanity. Something far past bravery and honesty and integrity and all that useless shit people love to fawn over. He’s the only person I’ve ever met that I believe actually deserves to _live_ instead of just not deserving to die.

And I can’t find the reason. I can’t find the source of his worth and it makes me want to scream. It makes me want to tear him open and search for it myself, digging my hands around in all of his soft and tender perfect pieces, but I can’t. Not yet.

It’s dangerous to be around him.

With everything going on with that body being found and my tools being lost the last place I should be is near him. Especially close enough that he can reach into my brain with those green eyes as hard as stone.

I am walking a tightrope over the gaping maw of a great beast, tongue dripping with anticipation, and I can’t seem to stop. I am losing my balance because of him, hanging down by the strength of my fingertips and letting my shoes graze the razor edge of his teeth. One wrong move and I will fall in, and then what will I have? Death, if I’m lucky, or a lifetime of unanswered questions.

Yet I am pulled to him, infatuated by the color and warmth at the back of his throat. I _want_ to fall in, maybe. Want to be chewed and swallowed, left mangled and broken.

Or maybe I want to become a beast myself.

It’s a trick. All of it. The way I feel almost whole when I’m with him, as if I could take off my mask and he’d still recognize me. It must be fabricated, the way I blend in around him, the unity I feel, as if we are the same species.

It’s a disgusting feeling, like a parasite crawling beneath my skin and planting little eggs of humanity there, waiting to hatch and turn me into something good. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to feel what he feels or care the way he cares.

The worst part of all is that I like it. I like the person he turns me into; someone who thinks in smiles and laughter instead of screams. Someone who’d rather learn a person’s name than their blood type. Someone who thinks of themselves as a human instead of a monster. Someone who might even be capable of feeling love.

That’s the worst part. Yes. The way he makes me _want_ things.

This is a rare instance where the prey outsmarts the predator, or maybe even their roles are switched. I have never felt like prey before, but I can’t say it’s all bad.

I slam the bathroom door as I leave it, sick of staring at my own face, the face of weakness. The sound sends my cat skittering down the hallway but I don’t care. I grab clean shirt and throw it on, something light to soften the pallor of my skin, and grab my keys. I need to go somewhere, to find someone and purge this ugly humanity from where it seeps into me. I need to feel the flow of someone’s blood in my hands to cleanse my wounds like peroxide.

I’m halfway down the porch steps when my phone rings and I answer it before checking the number.

“Hello?” The words come out like venom.

“Oikawa Tooru?” A woman’s voice squeaks, soft and tentative.

“Yes, may I help you?” I ask, replacing the bite with a friendly chipper and listening as she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Hey! It’s Mei, the nurse from the arcade center,” she says, and a grin splits across my face.

“Oh, yes! How could I forget? My hero. What can I do for you, my dear?” She eats up every word.

“I was just wondering if maybe you had time to go grab those drinks we talked about? I know it’s short notice but my shift just ended and I was heading that way. Long day, you know? You wouldn’t believe how many different ways kids manage to hurt themselves.” She stops and breathes, having forgotten to during her speech.

“You know what? I was actually just heading out. Your timing couldn’t be more perfect,” I tell her, mouth watering. “Do you know the Cat’s Cradle? It’s a little bar downtown.”

“I’m sure I can find it,” she laughs, excitement showing easily though her face.

“Wonderful. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

I click the phone off and shove it in my pocket, taking the rest of the steps with a newfound vigor and hopping into my car. I love it when solutions just fall into my lap.

***

Getting the nurse to the basement was easier than anticipated. Almost mundanely so.

I met her at the bar, pretending to find the way she flushed and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears cute. We talked, I laughed, she touched my arm. I told her about my childhood; some bullshit about a tough older brother and a sweet little sister. She ate it up. It was all very easy. Too easy.

We sat in the back of the bar, at a table where shadows covered half of our faces and lingering cigarette smoke covered the other half and no one would ever recognize us if someone in blue came poking around with a photograph and too many questions. As expected no one said a word or even looked my way as I quickly dropped an unmarked tablet in her drink, and no one waved goodbye as I walked her out stumbling and giggling.

Her eyes were already shut as I helped her into the passenger seat of my car, carefully digging through her purse to find her keys. They were heavy, covered in silly key chains and little moving gadgets that either jingled or clicked, and it took a few tries before I slipped the right key into the ignition and turned it.

Maybe I was being overly cautious, but with my new friend the hardass detective hot on my trail I guess you can never be _too_ cautious. I still hated it though, moving her car to a liquor store parking lot down the street instead of leaving it where it was as usual. It was a betrayal to the method, but it was necessary.

Carrying the woman down the stairs was probably the hardest part, taking each step one at a time to avoid falling. Her eyes were starting to flutter as I strapped her on to the table and left, heading back upstairs for a snack while I waited for her to fully wake up.

“Now comes the fun part,” I tell myself, checking my watch as I make my way back down the stairs and to the heavy metal door. It’s barely nine. Perfect. I can finish up here, grab a shower, and be in bed in time for my morning shift.

There’s a whimper as I open the door and a grin spreads on my face. The nurse’s head twists around as she tries to get a look at me, futilely working against the restraints.

“O-oh my god,” she whispers, tears streaking heavy mascara down her cheeks. “Tooru, is that you?”

“The one and only,” I tell her, dropping into the chair by the table and leaning back.

“What is this? Where am I?” The betrayal in her eyes looks so pretty I almost want to leave it that way instead of muddying the color with fear.

“Welcome to my humble home,” I beam, gesturing widely to all of the cold metal cabinets.

She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows hard, chest heaving with the panicked breaths she’s trying not to show. She’s trying so hard to stay calm. It’s admirable.

“You aren’t going to be a screamer, are you,” I pout, leaning forward and watching as she struggles to even her breathing.

I stand and turn to the table behind me, almost missing when she speaks again.

“Why did you bring me here?” She asks, choking back the tears in her throat and actually doing a good job of it.

“Mei, wasn’t it?” I start, but she doesn’t respond. “Well, Mei, you wanted to have some fun, right? This is my idea of fun.”

I start to rifle through the drawer, looking for the right tools. The metal clinks together and a sob escapes from Mei’s tightly sealed lips.

“Atta girl! That’s what I was waiting for!” I say, finding my scalpel and spinning back around. “Let it all out. Show me what you really feel.”

She shakes her head back and forth, dark hair sticking to her forehead despite the chilly air.

“No, please,” she cries, face twisted and terrified. “Let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone just let me go.”

“Aww, I’m sorry,” I tell her, softening my voice and leaning against the table. I poke at her nose and she winces. “I can’t do that. You see, I’m in deep shit as it is, and letting you out would almost guarantee bad things to happen, and we can’t have _that_ , can we?”

“I won’t, I promise,” she sobs, letting loose just like I told her to, black stained tears falling into her hair. “I won’t tell, I won’t, just please _, please_ …”

Her words divulge into incoherent choking and I just pat her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It’s long and dark, thick between my fingers and slightly damp with tears. It’s almost the same exact shade as Iwaizumi’s.

“Tell me, Mei,” I say, a thought popping into my head as I stand back straight and put on some plastic gloves from the drawer beside the table. “How high is your pain threshold?”

She falls apart immediately, crumbling into a messy pattern of panicked mix of ‘no’, ‘please’, and ‘don’t hurt me’.

“Now keep still, dear,” I tell her calmly, laying my palm just under her hairline. “I want to make a clean cut.”

She struggles, screaming and kicking against her restraints, but I still manage to make a mostly straight line from the tip of one ear to the other, across her forehead. Blood spills down the sides of her face as she screams, a deep guttural sound straight from her core. I can feel the tension in my shoulders relax away with every inflection of her voice.

Bloodshed; It’s a miracle drug.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now was it?” I ask, cooing beside her ear. She lays all but still now, staring straight up, the only sign of pain being the way she winces every time she inhales.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” I tell her, narrowing my eyebrows at the way she avoids my gaze. “This is supposed to be fun for both of us.”

She turns to me slowly, closing one eye as a stream of blood runs over the lid. “Please. Either let me go or just kill me.”

“Now that wouldn’t be any fun for either of us,” I tell her, holding up the scalpel and smiling. “Just a little farther.”

I start to cut again but she doesn’t scream, just whimpers as my scalpel moves smoothly around the curve of skin behind her ear, all the way down to the back of her neck. I sigh before moving to the other side, bored with the lack of noise. I decide to fill the silence myself.

“I’m going to get one of those pretty wig stands for this,” I say plainly, watching clean white bone start to peak out of the wake left behind my knife. Silver, white, and red; a masterpiece tied together by dark brown waves.

“It’ll be the star of my collection,” I continue, pulling back and inspecting my work. “Just you wait.”

“C-collection?” She asks, finally speaking again.

She turns her head too fast, feeling her skin slide out of place, and it takes everything I have not to laugh at the noise she makes. It’s somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, broken with a thick sob from her rough throat. Breaking the tough ones is such an amazing feeling.

“Everyone collects something, right?” I shrug, passing off my excited giggle as clearing my throat. “Stamps, bottle caps, baseball cards, body parts; they’re all the same.”

“How many?” The sound is barely audible as she struggles to hold her head still.

“How many? Well, I could show you if you’d like, but that would take an awful long time,” I answer plainly.

She begins to cry again, and I’m surprised there’s enough moisture inside her to do so. No matter how many times I do this I’m always surprised at how resilient the human body is.

“I’m going to need you to turn your head, love,” I say, getting back to the task at hand. The last spot to cut is the line just at the base of her skull.

She says something, inaudible and weak, mouth stretched in a pained cry. The tears are coming faster now as everything sinks in and she loses hope. Usually this is the point where they start to yell and curse at me, but sweet Mei shows no signs of doing so.

I run a hand gently across her cheek, opening my mouth to coo and calm her just as the doorbell echoes through the room. I turn, looking to where I set up the ringer on the basement wall, the small red light above it blinking and telling me to hurry.

Mei begins to scream for help.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say, dropping all traces of my calm tone and slamming my palm against the metal table. “Just at the good part.”

Mei’s voice digs into my brain as I try to figure out what I’m going to do, punctuating my thoughts with her desperation.

“No one’s going to hear you,” I growl just as the ringer sounds again.

“DOWN HERE! IN THE BASEMENT! Oh god, HELP ME!” She continues to cry out and I slam my palms against my ears.

“ _SHUT THE FUCK UP_ ,” I scream back, yanking the drawer beside the table open and grabbing the first sharp thing I can find before slamming it back shut.

The heavy knife sinks easily into her chest, cutting her off mid word as a rush of air exits her throat. I must have nicked her lungs. Her back arches off the table and falls back almost immediately, her eyes dilating as her breath exits and nothing reenters.

“I really didn’t want to do that,” I tell her, sighing at the foamy blood bubbling up around the handle of the knife and gurgling in her throat. Yes, I definitely hit the lung.

The bell rings again and I clench my fists at my side.

“I’m coming,” I mutter, trying to even my breathing and calm the erratic way my heart beats in my chest, matching the annoyed pulse at my temple.

I leave the table, ignoring the steady dripping on the floor, and make my way to the sink, quickly and carefully taking off my gloves and washing my hands. I strip off my shirt and grab a new one from one of the drawers just to be safe before checking myself in the mirror and making my way out and up the stairs.

My hand grips the front door just as the bell rings a fourth time and I yank it open.

The dark green eyes staring back at me cut off the pathetic grumbling under my breath.

“Hajime?”

“Were you sleeping?” He asks. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, eyes almost frantic as they dart around anywhere but my face.

“It’s like nine,” I reply, narrowing my gaze and folding my arms across my chest.

“It’s eleven,” he tells me, finally looking up as a nervous smirk ghosts across his face.

“Really?” I reach in my pocket for my phone but it’s not there, probably forgotten on one of the tables downstairs. “Well, whatever. Do you want to come in?”

Something is off but I can’t pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it’s the way there’s no suspicion in the way he looks at me, no sign that he’s trying to read the creases in my skin. I wait for him to shake his head, breaking the weird character and making some quip before turning to leave, but he just nods and steps past me into the dim hallway.

The door makes a hollow sound as I close it, echoing as I lead him silently to the living room.

“Are you sure you weren’t sleeping?” He asks, looking around curiously at the one small lamp lit beside an armchair, casting an eerie yellow glow to the space.

“I was just reading,” I shrug, clicking on the main lights and blinking at the brightness before lowering them some, letting the dimness touch the rest of the room.

“With just that lamp? Isn’t that bad for your eyes?” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, instead glancing around at the décor and frowning. I wait for him to ask what’s up with the old lady furniture but he doesn’t comment on it.

“It was a scary book, Hajime. Stephen King. You ever heard of atmosphere?” What a lie. Momma never would have let something written by that ‘devil man’ anywhere near her home.

I motion for Iwaizumi to sit down and he obliges, perching on the edge of Daddy’s burgundy armchair. “Where’s the book?”

“I put it _away_ , Hajime,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut. “What do you think I am? Some savage who just leaves books lying around?”

“Oh no,” he breathes, looking as if he’s questioning why he’s here at all. “What kind of monster would do a thing like that?”

“Not one you’d want to run unto,” I deadpan, looking straight at him. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Alcohol, if you have it.”

“Coming right up.”

I leave him behind and step into the kitchen, leaning down to open the cabinet below the sink. I run my hand over the tops of the bottles, grabbing the fullest one I can find and standing back up. As I pour the clear liquid into two glasses it dawns on me that I have a cop in my living room and a dead body in my basement.

The thought should make me nervous but instead it makes something within me twitch, a smile spreading across my face, and for the second time tonight I have to stop myself from laughing.

I tuck the bottle of vodka beneath my arm, figuring we’ll need it, and make my way back into the living room. I hand one drink to Iwaizumi who knocks it back and sets the empty glass on the table before I even sit down.

He wipes the back of his hand across his lips as I stare at him wide eyed, leaving a light shine on his dark skin, and I refill the glass. He takes it but doesn’t drink, just eyes the clear liquid with a puzzled gaze.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence as I lean back on the couch and cross my legs, sipping lightly at my drink. “What brings you here?”

“I needed to get away from the office and I ended up here,” he confesses, taking a swig of the vodka. “I’m still not exactly sure how.”

“Well, you know what they say, Hajime,” I begin, holding up a finger. “If you love something let it go, and if it comes back-,”

“Stop.”

“Hmph,” I pout, but I do as he says when I see a confused sadness replacing the usual annoyed anger on his features. Something is wrong.

He finishes the drink and I fill it again.

“The office, huh? Anything you can talk about?” I ask, watching his Adam’s apple work over the liquid, eyes trailing the shadows below his loosened tie and undone shirt collar. I take another sip to hide my gulp.

“Not technically,” he shakes his head, and I can imagine the tiny battlefield his thoughts and conscience are fighting on in his mind. “But I really doubt it fucking matters. Not with you, at least.”

I fight the twinge in my gut at the way his lips slide over the word ‘you’, somehow intimate.

“I’m all ears.” I sit my drink down lean forward, elbows on my knees and chin resting against my folded hands.

His eyes travel to my face, actually taking it in for the first time tonight, and he glares before filling and finishing his fourth drink and pushing the empty glass to the edge of the table away from the open bottle.

“It’s this case I’ve been working on. A series of murders,” he begins, and my ears practically perk up. I try my best to keep my face calm, my heart pounding in my ears, and he continues. “We found the body of a young woman last week along with a bag of tools, and a call came in about an hour ago for another body found out near a salvage yard.”

My heart skips and I swallow hard, but Iwaizumi doesn’t notice.

“Are they connected?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“I don’t know for sure yet, but it has to be,” he says, dropping his head into his hands. “It has to be.”

“Why aren’t you responding to the call?”

His head whips up suddenly and I figure I hit a nerve.

“I can’t. That’s why I’m here,” he spits, but his anger isn’t directed at me. “My lieutenant sent me home. He says I’m working too hard, letting the case affect me too much. He says I need to get some sleep. He’s been on my ass more than usual lately, which is saying a lot.”

“Maybe he’s-,”

“And the worst part is he’s _right_ ,” he interrupts, finishing my thought. “This case is eating me alive but I can’t stop _letting_ it. Suga doesn’t know about how every time I close my eyes all I see is that girl’s face sticking out of that dirt hole, or how sometimes the face changes. Sometimes it’s him or Keiji, Hikari or Narumi. Sometimes it’s _you_.”

I keep my amusement off of my face, not daring to smile as Iwaizumi confesses his nightmares to me here in the dim room. I don’t let him know how deliciously ironic it is to spill your secrets to the one causing your pain. I don’t let him see the way I lick my lips as I lean forward and put a hand on his shoulder, cold fingers melting against warm skin.

“It’s turning me into someone I’m not. I want to find whoever’s doing this and I want to do so much more than lock them away,” he says, looking at me with desperation, as if he needs me to validate these thoughts. “This bastard deserves a bullet in the brain, or _worse_. He deserves to have done to him what he’s done to his victims. And I hate myself for thinking it.”

I imagine us in the scene that’s been sitting at the back of my mind ever since I met him, except this time with our roles reversed. Instead of me standing over him with a knife in hand, watching goose bumps rise along his bare skin on the freezing steel table, he holds the barrel of a gun to my forehead. The dark metal presses between my eyebrows as he grits his teeth and I whisper ‘do it’, my smile so wide I feel like my face will split.

I feel that twinge again and cross my legs a bit harder, returning to the scene before me.

“Hajime,” I breathe, my best imitation of worry.

I remember the way I had cursed myself for how I feel around him, but this is not the same Iwaizumi. His strength is what throws me off guard, when he is stoic and wise, but this, _this_. Sitting here weakened and open before me he is nothing but prey. I can taste blood in my mouth and salt on my lips.

“I just want to feel something else for a while,” he whispers, barely audible if I wasn’t sitting so close. “Something other than anger and hate and fear.”

“What do you want to feel?” I ask, my voice deep and breathy as he looks up at me through long dark lashes.

He pounces like a tiger, quick and painless as both of his hands cup my face, latching like claws, and he brings our lips together.

There is no tenderness; no melting into each other as fireworks explode and butterflies fill our stomachs. He is hungry in his movements, breathing hot vodka breath as he drinks me in, tongue in my throat and teeth on my thin skin. And I kiss him back just as ferociously, spurred on by the irony of it all. My mouth tastes exactly like all of those feelings he’s trying to escape.

He pulls back suddenly with a wet pop and a pained crease to his brows.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head and refusing to look at me.

He starts to stand but I grab him by the tie, smirking at the dark pink of his cheeks. Whether from the vodka or the kiss I’ll never know.

“Don’t be.”

All semblance of cat like grace is erased as he stumbles forward, knee smacking hard against the table as moves onto the couch. The open vodka bottle tips over, splashing its contents to the floor, but I stop him before he can turn to pick it up.

“Just leave it,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him back towards me on the seat. His mouth finds mine again as easily as his warm hands find the hem of my shirt and travel up my back.

Two can play at that game; I think as I bite his bottom lip and pull away, tugging the loose tie over his head before he slips the thin t-shirt over my own.  He smiles and moves to my neck as I reach for the front of his shirt, snagging the tender skin above my collarbone with his teeth with every button I undo.

If I thought his hands were warm his chest is burning, and he flinches as I rub my cold hands over the muscles.

“Tooru,” he breathes against my skin, licking at the swollen marks he left there.

“Hmm,” I mumble, preoccupied by feeling his edges. My fingers run over the divots in his ribs and the line of his jaw, slowly tangling their way into his hair. Dark and thick, just like Mei’s. The thought sends a shiver through me, pushing at the zipper of my jeans.

“Why do you smell like bleach?”

“I’ve been cleaning,” I lie easily, remembering the scalpel in my hands and blood against steel. My heart pounds faster as heat travels through my core, tingling against my skin.

I lay back, head hitting the arm of the couch as Hajime pulls his arms out of his open shirt and follows me, leaning between my bent legs. One hand braces him against the couch as he searches for my lips again, and the other travels down to unbutton my jeans, reaching inside as I gasp into his mouth.

“Open,” he orders, and I oblige, weak to the commanding tone in his voice. He presses his fingers to my lips, letting me get them disgustingly slobbery before reaching down again, taking me in his hand. I lean my head back, gulping at the warm air around us and ignoring the slight alcohol burn against the tender skin. He licks a burning trail up the side of my neck to the space below my ear and I am a complete mess.

He moves slowly at first, skilled as he builds up a rhythm with the way I buck my hips, and I wonder briefly how many dicks he’s handled in his life. He pulls away and leans our foreheads together, panting.

“Hajime,” I whimper as one hand finds its way back into his hair and the other wraps around his fingers, forcing them to pump faster, desperate for the motion.

“Don’t you have a wife and daughter,” I ask suddenly, for no other reason than to rile him up. His grip tightens and I smile at the pain.

“Ex wife,” he growls, lifting his head up to look down at me.

“Yeah but, like, a _woman_ , right?” I smirk, leaning up as far as I can to catch his lips but he pulls away.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, slowing the movement of his hand as a threat.

“Definitely not,” I pout, wrapping both arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Then shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, sir,” I laugh, the absence of warmth floods my chest suddenly as he moves away, nestling his head farther down.

“You sure bitch like my ex wife,” he mumbles, but I don’t have a chance to respond before his mouth envelops my cock, warm and wet.

“Oh, _shit_ , Hajime,” I moan, back arching off of the cushions.

Me mumbles something around me, mouth full, and I whimper again.

My hands are in his hair, pulling and following the way he bobs, up and down, up and down and I throb inside his mouth, so close to climax.

I imagine the sensation matching up with the thick pump of blood through his jugular, bulging beneath his dark skin as he flattens his tongue against my base.

“I, I-m,” I gasp, unable to finish the thought as he hollows his cheeks and my fists tighten around dark locks.

I imagine slicing that artery open, the crimson blood spurting out and staining the leg of my jeans, spraying across my stomach. I imagine my body dripping with his blood, warm as fresh as it covers me, sinking into my pores, and I shudder as I come.

“Fu-,”

The word doesn’t have time to escape my mouth before he’s kissing me again, mouth salty and sticky at the corners, and I am a shuddering puddle beneath him. His chest is covered with a thin sheen of sweat and my shaking hand slide easily down to the waist of his slacks, one hand running over his ass I start to pull them down, but he stops me.

“Upstairs.”

“What?”

“Let’s go upstairs.” His gaze is hungry, and once again I feel like I’m staring into the mouth of a beast.

That lightning quickness is back as he stands, pulling me up from the couch easily as I stumble behind him, one hand holding up my jeans. He has one foot on the stairs before my buzzing mind catches up.

“Stop,” I say, yanking my arm from his grasp when he ignores me.

“Huh?” He turns to look at me, eyes wide.

“I don’t want to go upstairs,” I tell him, shaking my head.

He looks confused, hurt even, but I stand firm.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks, reaching out to touch me but thinking better of it, eyes sobering slightly when they see the look on my face.

“No,” I answer, pulling my pants up all the way and buttoning them. “I just don’t want to go upstairs. Not tonight.”

“Yeah, no,” he blinks, shaking his head as if trying to wake himself up. “That’s fine. Totally okay.”

“We can finish down here,” I say, gesturing back to the couch.

“No, uh, I’m gonna go,” he says awkwardly as he steps back into the entryway. “I’m really sorry.”

He brushes past me, careful not to touch, and I watch as he picks his shirt up from the floor along with the forgotten vodka bottle that he sits back on the table. I wonder if I should comfort him, but I don’t know how.

“It’s fine. You’re fine,” I tell him, squeezing my eyes shut and gripping the stair banister. “I’m just tired is all. Call me, okay?”

I wait for him to perk up or to try and kiss me goodbye but stoic Iwaizumi is back and I suddenly feel too vulnerable. Too afraid.

“Sure,” he mumbles, turning around and making his way to the door. I hold my breath as he passes the basement staircase but he doesn’t as much as look at it. My heart doesn’t beat again until the front door is shut and I watch headlights leave the driveway.

My legs feel weak and I drop onto the bottom stair, suddenly exhausted. There is one perfect shoeprint in the dust on the wood beside me and I wipe it off quickly, removing all traces of disturbance.

I feel dirty, suddenly, disgusted with myself. My fingers are sticky as I curl them into a fist on my knee, and my hair sticks to my cold, sweaty forehead.

I can no longer smell cleanliness on my skin, the bite of bleach and peroxide and soap replaced by salt and cum and disgust.

I replay the night in my head, trying to slow it down in my mind to properly analyze, but all I can focus on is the thought of Iwaizumi taking me upstairs. I imagine him in the hallway, in my room, on my bed, and it makes me sick.

He must be out of his mind to try and go up there, I tell myself. Too drunk to realize what he was doing.

Momma wouldn’t approve of that. She wouldn’t approve at all.

***

“Hitoka, do we carry wig stands?” I ask as Yachi and I sort through the giant box of returned clothes in the back room, separating the sizes and types to be carefully hung back on their proper racks.

“Haven’t you worked here longer than I have?” She asks, struggling to straighten out a shirt that has way more straps than necessary.

“When have you ever known me to pay attention to anything in this store?”

“I don’t know. If we did they’d be in the craft section,” she replies, throwing the shirt back in the bin with a huff. “What do you need a wig stand for anyway?”

“True or-,”

“Never mind,” she says quickly, waving her hands to stop me. “I don’t want to know. I’ll check for you on my break.”

“You’re an angel,” I beam, making her roll her eyes.

Ever since the night in the forest we haven’t spoken much about my hobbies, her face turning to a distorted grimace every time something is even almost brought up. It’s as if she doesn’t want to know anymore, doesn’t want to be that one person able to peak in on my world. It’s smart, I must admit, distancing herself from something that can only end up hurting her.

I lean forward to grab a stack of hangers, my nametag weighing down the front of my shirt and Yachi gasps.

“Tooru, what happened?” She asks, hand flying to her mouth. “Did something bite you?”

I sit back up suddenly, readjusting my shirt. “I guess you could say that.”

“What was it? Ants? Mosquitoes? Did you go back to the river?” She scoots over to me, gently pulling at the collar of my shirt to inspect the bruising.

“No, I haven’t gone back,” I tell her, turning my head away.

“Oh my goodness, are these _hickies_?” Her voice is shrill as it moves over the word, and I feel like a teenager getting yelled at by their parent. “D-did you meet someone?”

She pulls back and tries to catch my gaze, something like fear and worry mixed in her eyes. Worry for me or for the person in question I don’t know. Probably the latter.

“Yeah,” I admit, figuring she’ll pull it out of me anyway. “We met a few weeks ago and we’ve hung out a couple times. I guess we hit it off pretty well because he came over last night and…,”

Tears spill over Yachi’s lashes as a huge grin spreads across her face and she practically throws herself into me.

“Oh, Tooru,” she sniffs, squeezing her tiny arms around my shoulders. “I’m so happy. What’s his name? What’s he like?”

I roll my eyes at the outburst, bored by it. I don’t know why she’s so worked up about this, as if it means everything will be okay from now on. As if this makes me any less of a murderer.

Just because he blew me doesn’t make me want to kill him any less.

“His name is Hajime,” I tell her, avoiding the second question as not to reveal the cop thing. “And we aren’t dating or anything if that’s what you’re thinking. Last night was just a spur of the moment thing.”

She knits her eyebrows together, thinking on something I can’t quite pinpoint.

“Besides, I think he’s going for more of a ‘friends with benefits’ thing, what with the divorce and the daughter-,”

“Tooru,” she cuts me off, looking up with a question in her irises that I know she wants me to deny. “Wasn’t Hajime the name of that cop at the river?”

I don’t bother to ask true or false, knowing that I probably couldn’t make up a lie if I tried.

“Yes,” I sigh, looking down at the thin blue carpet. “I knew him before that, though. And I knew he was a cop, but I never imagined-,”

“I cannot _BELIEVE_ you, Tooru!” Yachi yells, throwing a handful of clothes at my chest, tears angry now instead of relieved.

“Hey!”

“You knew he was a cop and you got close to him anyway? Are you an _idiot_?” She smacks her hand against my shoulder, harder than I expected, and I laugh. There is more anger in her eyes than I’ve seen in a long time and it only flares hotter as I catch both of her small hands in mine. “Why are you laughing? What part of this is _funny_ to you?”

“You act as if I didn’t think any of this through,” I chuckle, letting her go and waiting for her to strike me again. She doesn’t.

“I don’t think you did, Tooru! I don’t think you thought about it at all! I think this is all a game to you as usual,” she seethes, tears gone and replaced by a deep intensity darkening her chocolate eyes.

“Hitoka, please,” I say, not sure why her words are suddenly hitting me so hard. “It’s not like that okay?”

“What? Are you going to tell me you actually care about him?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought,” she spits, disappointment dripping from every word. “You’re just playing with him, Tooru. But he’s not just a toy, he’s _dangerous_!” She looks as if she’s trying to plead with me, wanting to beat reason into my skull. “They’re out there looking for you _right now_. For _us_ , and if you think he’s stupid enough not to realize-,”

“He doesn’t suspect anything,” I say firmly, the one thing I know is true at least for now.

“Why? How can you know that? Because,” she pauses, lowering her voice. “Because you _fucked_ him?”

“I didn’t,” I whisper, thinking back to the night before and the desperation in the way he touched me.

“Look,” she sighs, dropping her head into her hands. “You have to stop this, Tooru. You can’t keep seeing him. This isn’t only about you anymore.”

“No, Hitoka, listen,” I shake my head, ignoring the look she gives me. “It’s bigger than that, okay? It’s bigger than cop and criminal. This isn’t a game it’s an _opportunity_.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I’m just playing around with my life? With both of our lives? I’m not dangling meat in front of a dog, Hitoka, I’m gathering information. He told me that they found a second body last night, and they have my bag of tools in the station. He trusts me enough to tell me all of that,” I pause, licking my lips and taking a moment to breathe. “Don’t you think we should take advantage of that?”

“I…I don’t know,” she whispers, deflating as all of her anger leaves and is replaced by shock.

“I’m not being reckless, I promise,” I tell her, pulling her into a hug and setting my chin on top of her head. More for her comfort than mine. “The moment I smell danger I’m out of there. But for now I’m not going to stop seeing him.”

“Do you like him?” she mumbles against my chest, and for one of the few times in my life I don’t know what to say. “At all?”

Do I like Hajime?

I don’t truly understand what that entails.

I like the way his blood pumps below the skin of his neck. I like the feeling of the muscles in his chest, and the way I imagine my knife slipping easily between them. I like the way his hands felt running over my exposed skin. I like the idea of the answers to all of my questions hiding somewhere inside of him.

But Hajime as a person?

Hajime as someone with fear in his eyes and regret in his heart? Hajime as someone who loves his daughter and devotes all of himself to his job? Pathetically human, Hajime?

I’m not so sure.

“It’s complicated,” I answer, and Yachi’s hand tightens in my shirt.

“Can you promise me something, Tooru?” She asks, breath hot through my shirt.

“What is it?”

“Can you promise me that everything will be okay?” Her voice is muffled through my shirt but I understand every broken word.

“True or false?”

“False.”

A smile spreads across my face, thin and twisted but a smile nonetheless, and I kiss the top of her head before answering, running my hand over her smooth blonde hair.

“Of course it will be, love. Everything will be perfectly fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt at actual (mild) smut, so bear with me, but holy smokes it was hard. I don't know how other writers do it but i definitely applaud them.  
> I could barely get through it without embarrassing myself and now that embarrassment is public so...yay for that!


	6. Determination - Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm not dead just very busy and plagued by severe writer's block. I love you guys and I'm hoping to get back on the horse soon!)
> 
>    
> You're in and out up and down  
> Wonder if you're lost or found  
> But I got my hands on you  
> Are you strong enough to tow the line  
> Are you gonna make me yours  
> Or do I make you mine  
> I'm in and out I'm up and down  
> Wonder if I'm lost or found  
> But I need your hands on me now 
> 
> But you don't need my pictures on your wall  
> You say you need no one  
> And you don't need my secret midnight call  
> I guess you need no one  
> Is anybody waiting at home for you  
> Cause it's time that will tell if it's heaven if it's hell or if it's  
> Anybody waiting at home for you  
> Cause it's time that will tell this tale 
> 
> \- Train

It always astounds me how time can look so different on separate people.

A fifty year old mother of seven may wake to find too many wrinkles on her face while the woman down the street still glows with youth despite her age, gliding around town like some forest gypsy with her flowing skirts and ever present smile. A child from a broken home and a child from a happy one look upon the blackboard with very different eyes, one with a thirst for knowledge and the other just happy to be somewhere else for a few hours. Time never treats two people the same way.

I have seen so much death, felt so much grief and glimpsed so many ghosts for my short twenty seven years that you’d think I was one of them. Among the living but mostly dead, witnessing tragedy after tragedy and trying to hide the way they cut into my skin and scoop a part of me out every time.

How many more years until there’s nothing left?

Maybe that’s what’s so fascinating to me about Oikawa; the way he is so many different people at once. How I can’t tell what kind of life he’s had from the clock’s marks on his skin.

There’s the child smirking playfully in the way he pouts, and the lonely boy desperate for a friend in his cautious jokes. Sometimes I can see someone screaming for help behind his eyes, and others when I swear he licks his lips like a hungry animal.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell the masks from his real face, or if he even has one, but I know that in his years he’s lived so many different lives that I’m not even sure he knows himself anymore.

“Hajime,” a voice comes, cold and commanding from behind me, and I turn to find Suga’s head peeking out of his office door. He’s been like this ever since the other day when I announced we were launching an investigation, keeping me at the edge of his affection. It was stupid, I admit that, and it caused him a lot of trouble, but I don’t regret it.

“Yes, sir?” I answer, finding the way he narrows his eyes at me slightly amusing.

“The Deputy Chief wants to see you in his office.” He turns before I can respond, closing the door behind him.

Kuroo lets out a whistle between his teeth, looking up at me from the pile of case photos surrounding him on the floor. We had been going through the autopsy reports for both victims, searching for any similarities that could be a clue towards a signature, but not having much luck. Everything is only speculation when you only have two bodies to go off of.

“Shit, what do you think he wants?” Kuroo asks, sympathy in his catlike eyes.

“Well, seeing as I went over two levels of authority to demand an investigation be opened based off of what looks like a really strong hunch I’ll say it isn’t anything good,” I reply, face stony despite my words.

I’ve only spoken to the Deputy Chief a few times since his messages were usually relayed to us through Suga, and in that time I was never able to get a good read on his personality. The only thing I have to go on is Akaashi’s warnings to ‘stay on his good side if you know what’s good for you’.

“Hajime, if he tries to fire you-,”

“Then there’s nothing either of us can do about it,” I cut him off, sighing as I stand and readjust my tie. I tuck the wrinkled tail of my shirt back into my belt and hold my arms wide. “Well, how do I look?”

“Like a man on his way to death row,” Kuroo answers, shaking his head. “Good luck, man.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” I mumble, turning to head for the elevator at the end of the floor.

I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking as the doors close and the cage starts to move, up instead of down as usual. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, but I’m also confident that what I did was right, and I’m certain that even if I’m fired I will not stop working on this case.

The elevator dings as the doors open again and I step out into a hallway, the floor design vastly different from the one I work on. Instead of a wide open space filled with desks and the hustle and bustle of daily reports and information sharing there is a long stretch of closed doors. Each has a different placard on the door, Mr. This and Mrs. That, state attorneys and other department heads, titles that mean almost nothing to me.

I keep my shoulders straight and eyes forward until I reach his door, ‘Deputy Chief Sawamura’ glinting at me in gold letters. The knob is cold in my hand as I grip it, stopping to take a deep breath before twisting and pushing open the door.

“-in a public place does not make this a public investigation,” his voice booms as he holds a phone between his ear and shoulder, hands busy pulling a cigarette from a pack on his desk drawer. He’s not loud, exactly, just strong and commanding, the sound filling every corner of the room.

Sawamura’s eyes dart up as I close the door behind me and he rolls them at whoever’s on the other end of the line before gesturing for me to have a seat. As I go to sit he speaks again, the sudden sound making me jump.

“I don’t know where you got this lead from but there’s nothing for me to tell you. The case is not public at this time,” he says flatly, exhaustion in the back of his throat. He’s probably been dealing with this ever since the second body was found.

Suga had told us two days ago that information was leaked and we were to avoid talking to any reporters whatsoever. Is that what this is about? Do they think I’m the one talking with journalists?

My hand grips the chair a bit tighter, thinking back to what little I told Oikawa last week, but I push the idea from my head. He wouldn’t bring this to the media; he has absolutely nothing to gain from that. Besides, I don’t think the conversation was the thing to stick in his brain from that night. It definitely wasn’t what was stuck in mine.

Sawamura sticks his cigarette in his mouth and lights it, the flame casting a quick orange glow on his face and illuminating all of the stress lines and bags beneath his eyes. I don’t envy his job at all.

“Listen, you can keep asking questions until you turn blue but you aren’t going to get any answers from me,” he mutters around the butt of the cigarette, stopping to take a quick drag and letting the smoke leak from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t care if your boss wants pictures of Spiderman on his desk by morning you’re looking in the wrong place.

I have to stifle a chuckle, pushing away the thought of how much he resembles J. Jonah Jameson himself right now, with small patches of gray hair mingling with the black on the sides of his head and the steady stream of smoke coming from his cigarette. All he needs is a mustache to top off the look.

Instead I focus on the room, ignoring the conversation since it isn’t mine to eavesdrop on to begin with. It’s not that much bigger than Suga’s office, but its stuffed with much more furniture. Along with the large desk in the center there’s a smaller table to one side with a decanter of whiskey and two faux leather armchairs, along with a simple couch on the other. The walls are lined with different plaques and certificates next to various framed newspaper clippings. It’s like something you’d set up on the set of a black and white detective film, with such a strong sense of predictability you start to believe it isn’t real.

The sounds of the plastic receiver dropping into place a little more forceful than necessary and Sawamura letting out a heavy sigh snap my head back to attention, staring forward as he loosens his tie with one hand and stubs out his cigarette with the other.

“Sorry about that,” he tells me, looking up with a surprisingly open and friendly expression. “Reporters are like vultures, one hint of blood and they’re swarming you waiting for you to drop dead and leave a comment.”

“Any word on where the information might have leaked from?” I ask, wondering if I come off nonchalant or guilty. Which is ridiculous, I tell myself.

“No, but we aren’t really looking into it. Nine times out of ten it’s the family of the victims, either trying to get help or looking to make a profit. Motive is a strange thing to study,” he says, looking just slightly past me, something like a memory ghosting across his eyes. “Especially when mixed with grief.”

“Just a hazard of the job I guess,” I shrug, something inside of me releasing at his words. One potential fireable offense down, one to go. “I don’t envy you.”

Sawamura laughs, a heavy genuine sound, like the beat of a drum. “And I don’t envy you either, or that mouth of yours. You managed to get on Suga’s bad side which is not an easy thing to do.”

“I guess I did,” I mumble. “But Suga’s bad side just means no more cookies in your lunchbox.”

He laughs again, and my muscles start to relax. Maybe Sawamura isn’t as scary as everyone makes him out to be, or maybe he’s toying with me.

“Right, right. You’d be surprised though, he can get pretty intense sometimes,” Sawamura says, voice lowering as he stands to grab the decanter and a couple glasses from the small table before returning to his desk. “And you definitely don’t want to be on his war path when that happens. Do you like bourbon?”

“Yes sir,” I lie, taking one of the glasses as he fills it. “And no, I don’t plan to. I know what I did was wrong, and I have no right to supersede power-,”

“No, no,” he stops me, taking a sip from his glass and setting it on a stack of papers to his side. “What you did was good, and I tell you that with the faith that you won’t go around spouting off to your superiors whenever you see fit.”

“No sir,” I say, not sure exactly where he’s going with this. I lift the glass to my lips and let some of the liquid slip between them, hiding the sour look on my face at the bitter cinnamon flavor.

“As your Deputy Chief I have to tell you that you were out of line to deny authority, but as a fellow officer, and someone who’s worked with these same people for many more years than you have, I find it admirable. Koushi can be too hesitant sometimes, he’s cautious, and once in a while he needs a good shove in the right direction.”

I sputter, a bit of the bourbon splashing in my nose and burning but I ignore it, rubbing quickly at the mess on my face and setting the glass aside. “So you…aren’t firing me?”

“I allowed the investigation to be opened, didn’t I?” He replies, not exactly answering my question.

That was true. My stunt downstairs hadn’t actually opened the case, it just managed to get enough detectives in the department looking into the files and agreeing with me to force Suga to take it up to Sawamura. I half expected it to be shut down immediately, but he allowed us to continue investigating, and ever since then I’ve just been waiting for the ball to drop and everything to blow up in my face.

He leans back in his desk chair, the leather groaning beneath him, and I suddenly feel like a subject on a slide beneath some kind of giant microscope. It makes me squirm.

“If you don’t mind, sir, why did you call me in here today?” I shake my head, doing my best to push away all of the nervousness inside. It works slightly, but I quickly swallow the rest of the bourbon in my glass just in case.

“Multiple reasons, actually,” he answers, reaching for a new cigarette next to the pile of half smoked ones in the ash tray on the desk. “Have you found anything interesting?”

“My partner and I have been comparing autopsy reports of the victims,” I tell him, much more comfortable with this turn in the conversation. “It’s kind of hard with only two bodies but Kuroo and I are leaving no stone unturned. Also-,”

“Did you find anything?”

I pause, not wanting to admit how little we’ve actually learned. “Well, the first victim we found was missing her heart. Barely anything else on her body was harmed in any way except for the empty chest cavity. And the second one was missing his eyes.”

Sawamura turns the lit cigarette between his fingers, watching it carefully but not lifting it to his mouth. “Was the second body harmed beside the missing eyes?”

“Yes, sir,” I sigh, knowing how all of this looks, but I refuse to give up on this case. “The cause of death was a laceration across the throat, damaging the trachea. But it’s important to note that the eyes were removed antemortem, same as the first victim’s heart.”

He just hums in answer, as if to question if the information was in fact important to note. “Anything else?”

“Well, both victims were virtually alone, and based on the other missing person reports we’re looking into that seems to be the Puzzle Box killer’s target group,” I pause, looking up to see his reaction.

“Puzzle Box Killer?”

“Sorry, that’s the name we’ve coined downstairs,” I tell him, opening my mouth to explain farther but he interrupts.

“Because of the missing organs. Like the missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,” he mutters, and I nod. “I like it, it’s clever. Continue.”

“They had no roommates, very few friends, and lived quite a ways away from their families. One was a waitress and the other was a bartender, both in their early twenties.”

“So they were practically the same as almost every person their age, were killed in very different ways, and were found on opposite sides of the city. Is that correct?” His previous friendly expression is gone, and I see nothing but the face of a man who is unconvinced and unamused.

“Y-yes,” I answer, but I don’t deflate. I’m ready to fight for this if that’s what it comes to, and I can tell that he knows it.

This is the Deputy Chief Sawamura I was warned about. This man with a burning cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other, both seeming more comforting that the cold stone wall of brown eyes so dark they’re almost black and the heavy set to his jaw that begs you to try and cross him. This is the man you hope never to see, but he fades away almost as quickly as he came.

“Look, Iwaizumi,” he starts, shoulders drooping slightly as he puts out his cigarette, having not smoked it at all, and I think it’s the first time he’s addressed me by name. “I can see how much this means to you, and I’ve heard so much about your passion and drive from Koushi, so I want you to know I’m not trying to bust your balls or anything. If you feel that strongly about this case then I believe you, and I believe you can solve it.”

“Sir?” I say, caught off guard, but he just ignores me and continues.

“You know, you were up for promotion to Sergeant over Akaashi,” he tells me, folding his hands

\ on the desk in front of him. “And it was actually Koushi who argued for me to hold off.”

“I don’t know what this has to do with the current case, sir,” I mumble, not wanting to relive that situation. I’m sure Suga meant well since I wasn’t in the best mental place at that time, the divorce and the custody battle mixed with a different ongoing case wearing me thin, but it still stings.

“I just wanted you to know that I’ve seen leadership potential in you for a long time, and so has Koushi, you just weren’t ready before. I think you’re ready now,” he continues, leaning forward. “I’m putting you at the head of the Puzzle Box case.”

“But Suga is-,”

“Suga has enough on his plate besides this. Crime never sleeps, Iwaizumi, and we can’t afford to stop doing our jobs to focus on one killer,” he explains, closing his eyes and shaking his head, and I can see the years of fatigue in the lines of his face. “Suga can handle the rest of the department, but I want you and Kuroo covering Puzzle Box, with any reports from other officers coming straight to you.”

“I..yes, thank you,” I stutter, eyes wide and heart soaring. I feel like none of this is real, that he’s going to laugh in my face at any second and fire me, but he doesn’t. This is it, I’m free to work this case as I please, and I can’t breathe.

“There’s a strong leader in you, and I want you to show him to me. If you really believe in this case then prove yourself right. Solve it,” Sawamura nods, and I can see the hint of a proud smile at the corner of his lips. “Put your all into it, but don’t let it destroy you, okay? Learn where to draw the line.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, I will,” I fumble, standing quickly to reach out and shake his hand, hoping he won’t notice the way mine trembles.

“Catch that bastard, okay?” He says, standing up to properly return my handshake. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t, sir, I promise,” I reply, feeling suddenly nauseous. Sawamura pats me on the back and I turn to leave, thankful when the cold air of the hallway hits my face.

I can do this, I tell myself, trying to calm the erratic beating of my heart as I step back into the elevator. I was given this position because Sawamura believes I can handle it, and on some level I think Suga does too, but I can’t help but feel nervous.

Don’t let it destroy you, he said, as if he didn’t know that it already has.

***

Heading a case is a lot more stressful than I imagined. I thought it would be easy, letting others bring their findings to me while I work to piece it all together, but so far I’ve done much more delegating than deducting.

There’s so much pressure from all sides, and I can feel it slowly pulling me apart. To finally convince Suga that I’m right and not just overriding power, to show Sawamura I can handle it, to live up to the expectations I see in all of the other officers’ eyes when they come to me.

I think I would have lost it by now if not for Oikawa.

It feels odd to think about, realizing how dependent I’ve become on this person I’ve barely known for a few weeks and still truly know nothing about. Akaashi used to be my pillar, but with everything that’s been going on with the case and the mental split in the department I’ve been basically on my own with Kuroo on our half.

I don’t know what it is about him, between the constantly changing mask and his infuriating ability to seem nonchalant about everything despite his true feelings, but Oikawa feels like a magnet constantly pulling me in closer and closer. Or maybe I’m just stupid, and he’s a spider slowly entangling me in shining silvery silk. I don’t know which fate I’d rather see.

I didn’t intend to call after that first night at his house, had no plans to ever see him again after humiliating myself so blatantly, but I did.

It was shortly after the assignment, a week since we hadn’t spoken, and I felt like an animal trapped in a box filled with questions I couldn’t answer; drowning but not dying. I called, not expecting him to answer, but the two of us were pressed against the wall of my bedroom less than an hour later, not quite having made it to the bed itself.

He didn’t feel like a stranger then, he seemed to become someone he didn’t let himself be otherwise, yet still someone I couldn’t quite understand. I could see him, I could feel him, but his mask, no matter how near to transparent, was still just out of reach.

And from then the dam was broken, and he was just a phone call away at any given moment, and those moments were starting to become more and more frequent. Though, despite all of that, we never talked about that first night. I don’t know what it was that caused him to shut down, but I haven’t tried to go upstairs again.

This is the only thing keeping me sane right now, but honestly I still have no idea what _this_ is. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, with one side made of jagged rocks waiting to impale me with failure and I told you so’s, and the other deep water like black glass hiding feelings I don’t want or need just below the surface.

I should feel bad about the situation, using Oikawa as an emotional canvas to spread paint on and be rid of the pressure and pigment inside of me, but I don’t. Maybe I would if I sensed even a whisper of reciprocation, but he feels just as empty as I do. Maybe the arrangement is good for the both of us, or maybe we’re digging our own graves. I guess we’ll see soon enough.

“I haven’t seen that look on your face for a while,” a voice sounds, the body attached coming into view as I lift my head out of the box I’m sorting through.

“That’s funny. I haven’t seen _any_ look on your face in a while,” I fire back, waiting for Akaashi to react but he doesn’t. Stone faced as always, what else could I expect?

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he replies simply, handing me a Styrofoam cup of coffee and leaning against the table I’m working on. It’s uncomfortably warm in my hands in the stuffy room but I’m grateful for it anyway.

“What look do you mean?” I ask, taking a sip and imagining the caffeine swirling around my bloodstream banging pots and pans together to wake my body up.

“The look of lying to yourself and saying you don’t care about something. Or someone. I haven’t seen it since you met Narumi when we were still in the academy,” he says, sipping at his own coffee and staring off at one of the shelves with a pensive look in his eyes.

My stomach drops but I try to hide it, knowing Akaashi will see right through me anyway. “Bullshit.”

“Remember that night in that shitty bar we used to go to that never carded us when you were debating quitting the academy because of her? You got so drunk off of cheap apple martinis that I had to drag you up the dorm steps trying not to wake up the director.” He looks as if he’s going to smile for a moment, but the twitch at his lips disappears as quickly as it came and he turns to look at me. “So who are they?”

“I was only going to quit because I didn’t think I could juggle being with her and this job, and look where that got us,” I breathe, avoiding Akaashi’s gaze and returning to the box of files. “And to answer your question, no one. You must be seeing things.”

“Hmm,” he hums, not pushing it. I know he doesn’t believe me, but I’m thankful at least that he leaves things alone when asked. “What are you doing down here anyway? Shouldn’t you be upstairs?”

“I came to find some files for Kuroo to look into. Other cases that might be related and such,” I mutter, putting the lid back on the box and reaching for another.

“I see. So you’re hiding.”

“Basically,” I chuckle, but the noise catches in my throat as I open up one of the top folders, a familiar face looking up at me. Akaashi notices immediately, twisting his head to peer over at the file.

“What is that doing in the cold case files?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out to take the folder from me, but I snatch it away.

“I put it down here a few years ago,” I mumble, flipping through the pages as an idea pops in my head.

“Hajime-,”

“It wasn’t solved,” I snap, shooting him a look as if challenging him to argue with me on this. He doesn’t. He learned his lesson long ago.

“Here,” I breathe, finding the autopsy report near the back and pulling it out, searching for a specific line and jabbing my finger at it. “Read that.”

“The victim’s tongue was removed. Scar tissue suggests this was done antemortem. Hajime,” Akaashi sighs, taking the paper and setting it on the table top. “Don’t do this.”

“What’s the one similarity between the two Puzzle Box victims?” I ask, ignoring him. I feel like pure adrenaline is pumping in my veins.

“I-,”

“Missing parts. Remove while they were still alive,” I interrupt him, knowing he wasn’t going to answer the question anyway. “What if this case is connected? What if we’ve found other victims but didn’t know it?”

“Hajime!” He grabs me by the arms, forcing me to look in his eyes which are cold as stone like always. “Stop. Don’t do this. You can tear apart any case in this basement that you want but please, _please_ , just leave this one alone.”

“Keiji-,”

“Look at what you lost because of this,” he pleads, and I feel an ache in my side. “I can’t watch that happen again, Hajime.”

He’s right. Of course he is, but I know I’m already in too deep to stop myself.

This case was so much more that just that to me, and by association to everyone around me, and most of the wounds still haven’t healed.

Yamada Naoko, the woman in the case file, was one of the very first murder cases I was ever assigned to. A seemingly easy case; prostitute gone missing and no family involvement to cause a fuss about it. Those types of cases were almost always solved before they happened or never reported at all. These girls were constantly disappearing and turning up dead, either from vindictive pimps or ashamed patrons destroying evidence. Different girls, same story. Always. But this one felt so different, to me at least, and back then I was even worse at accepting no as an answer.

“But what if it ends up saving someone? What if this helps us clue it all together and stop him before he cuts another person’s heart out?”

Akaashi’s eyebrows knit together above an expression that suggests he just saw a ghost, and I know for a fact that he has. The reflection of my face in his eyes is one he’s seen before. One that led to too much trouble.

I’ve said these exact words to him before, years before, in a situation not too much different from this one.

The case was closed after Yamada Naoko’s body was pulled from a drainage canal behind a downtown packaging plant. The killer wasn’t found but they still closed it, since there was no one pressing charges over her anyway. She was alone in life and in death, and something about it didn’t sit well in my stomach.

I was there when they pulled her out of the water, and so was Akaashi, but no one remarked on how a two week old case produced a body that looked as if it had spent less than a day in that water. No one thought it was odd that not a single girl she worked with had any information though they were all genuinely worried, enough to have reported it in the first place.

The other girls said she wanted to be a singer, that when business was slow she’d talk about her dreams. The only time Naoko ever smiled was when she was singing, they said, so when the autopsy showed her tongue was cut out everyone just assumed it was a crime of passion. Another girl got jealous or annoyed, but I never believed it, and I don’t think they did either.

Akaashi held me by the shoulders in the same way then as now, his eyes pleading as they bore into mine and he attempted to block my path to the elevator.

“You can’t keep doing this. Narumi calls me every night looking for you. She doesn’t believe your ‘working late’ stories anymore,” he shook his head, trying to make me see reason. “You have the baby to worry about now.”

“I know that,” I whispered, shame crawling up my neck.

“The case is closed, Hajime,” he told me, so many less stress line on his face back then. “You’re going to get kicked from the squad if you go back out there stirring up trouble that doesn’t need to be stirred up.”

“Whoever did this is still free, Keiji,” I spit back, pulling out of his grip but not turning to leave. “They might do it again, hurt someone else, take these girls out one by one and never turn a single head. What if this ends up saving someone?”

He didn’t respond as strongly then, after all he wasn’t seeing a ghost but the man that was so close to losing everything and becoming the thing that would haunt him. I think, to some degree, he saw it coming, and I still don’t know why he stuck around with me this long.

“You know I can’t come with you,” he said, lowering his head and letting that shaggy black hair cover his face. “If you’re going to do this you have to do it alone.”

I remember the way my heart sank no matter how much I agreed with his words. I didn’t want to drag him down with me, yet part of me still believed I’d come out the hero.

“Yeah. I know,” I replied, reaching up to playfully push his shoulder but just letting my hand fall back to my side. “Besides, one of us has to say on Suga’s good side, right?”

“Be careful out there. I want you back in one piece so I can kick your ass myself.” He gave me a shaky half smile that I returned before stepping into the elevator. I’ve never forgotten the way he let the expression fall just as the door closed.

I was shot that night.

Word got around that some guy was wandering around the red light district every night interviewing the girls, and word got around even faster when someone recognized me as one of the cops that found Naoko’s body.

The air was so still, the fourth night I’d gone out, like the entire district was holding its breath. Girls were outside, but most would slip into cars or back doors of clubs when they saw me coming. The wind smelled like stale cigarette smoke instead of fresh tobacco and muddled perfume.

The hair stood up on my arms, fear like electricity around me, but my hand came up empty as it moved instinctually toward my gun holster. I’d left it behind to avoid suspicion, a mistake I’ll always regret.

I swear one of the girls, one named Miho that I recognized as a friend of Naoko, gave me a sad sort of smile before slipping into an unmarked building, a hush falling over the street as the door closed behind her.

The next thing I knew a man was walking toward me, legs moving too briskly to be friendly. I barely had time to open my mouth and start to lift my hands before his was shoved in his coat and he pulled out a gun. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, and I watched the bullet speed toward me as if in slow motion.

I felt it hit me, entering my skin just above my left hip, blowing me backwards as it slammed into the top of my pelvis. I remember the man leaving, not running, just calmly returning to where he came from as my back hit the asphalt and my brain shut off.

I would have bled out in the street if Akaashi hadn’t followed me. He told me later that he had a gut feeling that something was going to go wrong, and he couldn’t ignore it. I owe him my life, and honestly so much more.

But I still can’t stop myself from doing it again.

The air in the basement almost feels like the street had that night, thick and warm and too stagnant.

“I don’t have anything to lose this time,” I tell him, shifting my eyes away because I already know what a shitty thing it is to say.

“Well I do!” he fires back, so loud compared to his usual calm voice that my head instinctively snaps up. “You almost _died_ last time, Hajime!”

“But I didn’t.”

“Not physically.” His words are like poison, and I feel like all of the air is being squeezed from my lungs.

I spent a few days in the hospital, being told the whole time by doctors and nurses that I was lucky. So lucky that the bullet wasn’t just a fraction of an inch lower because it would have made full contact and shattered my pelvis, and a fracture is better on any day. At least I’d still be able to walk fine after it healed.

That was all fine and good, but all I could think about was how that little girl’s killer was still free. I think Akaashi wanted to strangle me the first time I was coherent enough to tell him that when he visited me, and I think Narumi would have if she didn’t have baby Hikari in her arms.

She left me shortly after that. It wasn’t a surprise, and there wasn’t even that big of a fight. She told me that she couldn’t keep living like that, constantly worrying if I would make it home alive when I obviously didn’t care whether I did or not.

The problems came when she tried to take Hikari, but of course the court favored the side of the involved mother rather than the temperamental father with a hero complex whose gunshot wound was still bleeding through the bandages onto his shirt in the courtroom.

I got weekends, a too long vacation from work in an empty house, a prescription for Vicodin, and an angry pink scar the size of a golf ball a few inches above my belt; so light against my dark skin.

I think that was a part of the reason Narumi left me. She couldn’t handle the wound, and especially not the scar if she’d stuck around long enough to see it.

She’s only caught glimpses of it a few times since then, through my open shirt or when I dropped Hikari off still dripping wet from the water park. She always avoids it, looking sick if she dares make direct eye contact, as if seeing the scar is like reliving the hell it caused. Or maybe she’s disgusted with it as an extension of me. That might be it.

I can’t help but compare that to the way Oikawa responded the first time he saw it, back in his living room but with much more light this time. I told him it was a work accident when he asked, not a lie, worried that he would push me away like Narumi had. But he didn’t. He didn’t hesitate to touch it, feeling the jagged lines and divots below his fingertips, fascination in his gaze.

It’s almost odd how obsessively he hovered over it, hand never leaving the area for the rest of the night. He almost worshipped it, exploring the edges as if he wanted to dig deeper, to break through the thin barrier and feel inside, but I was too far gone to care.

I was wrong; I do have things to lose, but not quite in the same way as last time. For some reason I feel like Oikawa would like me even more if I was full of bullet holes, torn and bloody beneath him.

I shake my head, forcing the insane thoughts out of my head and turning back to Akaashi.

“I-, I won’t go back, but I’m going to look into this case again. It might be the break I’m looking for,” I tell him calmly, picking up my coffee and just swirling the cold contents around before setting it back down.

“Some things are more important than catching a killer,” he responds, blinking slowly and sighing. “There’s no point in fighting for justice if you’re torn apart in the process.”

“At this point I don’t care what happens to me,” I tell him, feeling like my words are empty, hollow as they clatter to the ground between us. “I just want justice for all of these victims.”

“I know, Hajime. That’s what’s so dangerous about it.”

He leaves silently, the door closing heavily behind him and doing nothing to stir the stagnant air.

I want to understand him, to find what could possibly be more important than justice resting in me, but I can’t. I would sacrifice myself a thousand times over to bring peace to these families, and something tells me the opportunity isn’t very far away.

***

There are very few things in the world that the smell of fresh popcorn can’t make better, especially with small hands grabbing for the bowl and spilling buttery kernels all over the floor.

“Daddy, you’re making a mess!” Hikari chides, frowning down at the fallen popcorn.

“Me? You’re the one tilting the bowl!” I return, giving her my best offended face, complete with a dramatic hand to the chest. “Maybe you should grow a bit taller so you can reach it.”

It’s her turn to be taken aback, except the expression is much more genuine on her end, but it’s quickly replaced by a poorly hidden smirk.

“I’m only short because you are. Uncle Keiji told me so.”

“I am _not_ short,” I tell her. “I’m average.”

“He said you’d say that,” she giggles, taking the opportunity to swipe the popcorn bowl from me and shove a handful in her mouth.

“You can’t hang out with Uncle Keiji anymore,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, he said you’d say that too,” she mumbles over soggy popcorn. “He’s like a fortune teller.”

“Really? Well did he warn you that this would happen?” I ask before pouncing forward and running my fingers up and down her tiny ribs, giggles and popcorn filling the air as she fidgets.

“No! Stop it!” She yells, breathless between laughs. “Let go of me!”

“Not so tough now, are you?”

“Daddy!” She whines again as I let go and take the almost empty bowl back from her. “No fair!”

“Life’s not fair, kid,” I tell her, but she just glares back at me. “Come on, let’s go start the movie.”

Hikari pouts and follows me, but we barely step foot in the living room before the doorbell rings.

“Who’s that?”

“Don’t know,” I answer, giving Hikari back the bowl. “Go sit down and I’ll check.”

I don’t bother looking through the peephole before pulling the door open, a mistake, I realize, as a familiar face makes my heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” Oikawa breathes, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “I called but you didn’t answer so I thought I’d just swing by.”

“Sorry,” I reply, shaking my head to clear it, a piece of popcorn falling from my hair and bouncing onto the concrete porch steps. “My phone must be in the bedroom.”

“Yeah. I figured,” he chuckles, looking too good in the moonlight over head and the harsh yellow glow coming from the porch light. “Can I come in?”

“Now’s not a-,”

“Icky Tooru!” Hikari calls from behind me, Oikawa’s eyes going wide before a smile spreads over his face.

“That must be the little princess,” he says, peering around me to wave at her and then shrugging as if to apologize for forgetting she’d be here tonight. “I guess I’ll-,”

“Did you come to watch the movie with us?” Hikari asks, pushing me aside to step out onto the threshold of the door. “We’re watching Lilo and Stitch. We had a lot of popcorn but Daddy spilled a bunch of it in the kitchen.”

“Is that right? What a waste,” he tsks, looking from her to me and back down. “Thanks for the offer but I think I’m going to-,”

“Pleeeease,” she begs, turning around to tug on my pant leg. “Can he, Daddy?”

“If he wants to,” I answer, looking up at Oikawa and raising an eyebrow. “I don’t mind.”

“I guess I can’t refuse,” he smirks, and I immediately regret my words. There’s something feral behind his eyes and in the way he quickly bites his lip, the gesture pulling at something in the pit of my stomach but I push it away.

“There’s, uh, beer and juice boxes in the fridge if you want to grab something to drink,” I say, bending down in front of the TV to put the movie in the DVD player as Hikari hops up on the middle of the sofa, pulling a blanket over her legs.

“What a variety,” Oikawa quips, shaking his head as he turns the corner into the kitchen.

The movie loads quickly and I take a seat next to Hikari, lifting my arm so she can scoot close to my side, and Oikawa returns a few moments later with a handful of juice boxes.

“Do you want fruit punch or apple juice?” He asks shifting them around to read the different colored labels.

“I don’t-,”

“He likes the mixed berry,” Hikari answers, reaching up to take a red box. “He says he doesn’t but they’re always gone first.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, struggling not to smile as she turns to look up at me with one eyebrow raised. “You must drink them all and not notice.”

“No way! I don’t even like that kind,” she argues, sticking her tongue out at me.

“What? But it’s so good! It tasted like blueberries.”

“Hah! You _do_ drink them,” she laughs, eyes lighting up.

“Little detective in training,” Oikawa mutters, dropping the drinks on the coffee table and sitting down on Hikari’s other side. “Fitting. But too bad, there’s only one mixed berry and I’m drinking it.”

He brings the straw to his mouth and Hikari reaches out, quick as lightning, to squeeze the box, squirting juice straight up his nose and all over his face.

He chokes and sputters just as Hikari and I burst into laughter. I wonder briefly between gasps for air if I should scold her but instead I hold my hand out for a high five that she eagerly returns.

“How _rude_ ,” he whines after rubbing at the juice in his nostrils. “That burns!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just juice,” I tell him, standing to go grab a towel from the kitchen.

“It’s supposed to go in your mouth, not your nose,” Hikari laughs, struggling to get the words out as she wipes tears from her eyes from laughing too hard.

I have to take a minute to catch my breath before returning to the living room, trying my best to put a straight face back on.

“Your daughter is a bully,” Oikawa says, ignoring her jabs and turning to me as I toss a towel in his lap.

“Nah, she’s an angel,” I reply, grabbing a green juice box from the table before dropping back on the couch, the straw making a satisfying pop noise as I poke it through the foil circle. “You’re just too much fun to pick on.”

“I guess that’s where she gets it from,” he mumbles, rubbing at his face and shirt with the towel. “And here I was thinking it came from the mother.”

“Daddy, let’s watch the movie now,” Hikari says, handing me the remote and pointing at the screen where a little girl is hula dancing with a blue alien creature.

“Alright, alright,” I smile; clicking play and sitting back so she can settle herself back against my side, the giant empty popcorn bowl in her lap.

The movie goes by rather uneventfully, grabbing both Hikari and Oikawa’s attention almost immediately. They laugh and gasp at all the right times, almost like a pre recorded sitcom audience reaction track, and I even find myself drawn into the bright colors and cute story.

It feels different having Oikawa here like this; huddled together like a real family on the ratty old loveseat, Hikari’s blanket stretching almost across all of our laps and popcorn strewn across the pink linen. It’s not like the three of us haven’t spent time together like this before, but something about it feels more intimate, more permanent.

It’s not a bad different, but an odd one. Just the warmth of his shoulder against the side of my arm draped over Hikari feels closer than I’ve ever felt to him. His hand finds my knee under the blanket, and it’s warmer than anywhere our bare skin has touched.

And it terrifies me.

It doesn’t sink in until towards the end of the movie when Hikari starts to nod off beside me, head bobbing as she struggles to keep her eyes open. I expected this, knowing too well that she can never make it all the way through  movie, but what catches me off guard is the way she gives in and lays down with her head on Oikawa’s lap rather than mine, her little legs stretched out over me.

The sinking feeling in my chest isn’t hurt or jealousy, but surprise. I hadn’t seen how much Hikari had begun to trust him, too preoccupied with my own complicated growing emotions. He barely notices, eyes glued to the TV screen as a hand absentmindedly plays with her hair on his leg, and I am suddenly too aware of the beat of my heart.

“She’s asleep. We can turn this off,” I say, voice gravelly from not being used. The look he gives me would make you think I just proposed we kill the prime minister.

“Shhh, I wanna see how it ends.”

He turns back without another word, and I just shake my head, adding Disney movies to a mental checklist of things that can shut him up.

The way it makes me feel, watching Oikawa seem so genuine in the pale blue glow of the TV wrapped in a warm bubble with the single person I love most in the world, screams danger. I can’t explain it, but the thought of seeing him this way, of letting myself care about him on more than a primal level, on more than a basic human level, feels like laying on an operating table with my beating heart bared and handing him the scalpel, his surgeon mask just one more layer of disguise I can’t break through.

But I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the warmth in my chest or the slight smile on my lips. Can’t stop the itch in my fingers that want so badly to reach out and run through his hair. All I can do is let it happen and hope he won’t cut me apart.

He doesn’t speak again until the movie is over, and I switch the TV back to cable, lowering the volume a bit and letting some cooking show play.

“I guess you liked it?” I ask tentatively, suddenly awkward at the thought of holding a normal conversation.

“Loved it,” he answers, shooting me a brilliant smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “There aren’t enough movies about aliens.”

“I think here are plenty,” I argue.

“Alright, let me rephrase that. There aren’t enough _good_ movies about aliens.”

“You might have a point there” I chuckle, pulling the blanket up farther around Hikari’s legs.

“I don’t want to move her,” he says, almost a whisper as he looks down as Hikari’s softly rising and falling shoulders, an odd contemplative look in his eyes.

“It’s fine, she’ll fall right back asleep,” I tell him, remembering how often I’ve carried a sleepy Hikari to her bed and watched her fall over like a stone. I wish I could sleep as soundly as her.

“You probably have to get going anyway.”

“Not yet,” he replies, long eyelashes low over his eyes and a twist at the corner of his lips. “You’re a great dad, you know?”

“I try,” I shrug, not quite meeting his eyes. I’ve been told that before but I never believe it. “You just have to try and give them one better than you had, right?”

Something dark crosses his expression but it’s gone too quickly to tell what it was, and he looks up at me with a questioning gaze.

“Did you have a bad childhood?”

“No, not particularly,” I answer, not sure how the conversation got here. “I just want to make hers warmer than mine was.”

“Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess,” he smiles, suddenly energetic and lifting his arms to talk with his hands. “You had a tough guy dad who never showed any emotion and never told you he loved you, probably a cop too, and you promised not to end up like him but you realized he was only tough because he wanted the best for you and so now here you are living damn near the same life except you make sure to hug your kid to make up for the gaping hole in your emotional development. How close am I?”

For some reason I don’t feel the urge to hit him, and he seems surprised when a small amused smile spreads over my face.

“Close,” I reply, fixing my gaze on the TV as unnamed hands slice skillfully through an array of odd looking vegetables as a clock ticks down in the corner. “But it was my mom, actually. She was a lieutenant in the police force when I was growing up.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. She was, uh, caught up in a high speed chase that ended in a collision when I was fifteen. It damaged her spinal cord pretty badly and she was paralyzed,” I tell him, not knowing why the words spill from my mouth so easily.

“Did you join the force to continue her legacy?” He asks, and I’m grateful that he doesn’t apologize like people usually do when they hear this story. I’m not the one who was hurt; I don’t know why they apologize to me.

“No,” I reply, my smile widening as I turn back to him. “As soon as she was released from the hospital and cleared by the doctors they promoted her to Chief of Police so she could work from a desk. She’s still doing it, but not here, back in Yamagata where I grew up. She sent me here because she knew the director of the Sendai police academy and I ended up meeting Narumi and never moved back.”

“Your mom sounds like a tough lady,” Oikawa says, oddly genuine. It looks good on him. “What about your dad?”

“Never knew him. I was adopted.”

“Really?” He asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“A career driven supercop has no time for pregnancy,” I shrug. It never bothered me, being adopted, and I never felt like anything other than my mother’s son, but I don’t bring it up very much. “Mom was married before I came along, but he passed away pretty early and she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“I see,” he nods, and I feel suddenly transparent.

“Do you, now? What about you?” I ask, trying to move the subject.

“What about me what?”

“Your parents. What are they like?” I wonder briefly is ‘are’ is the right word, but he doesn’t correct me.

“Well,” he starts, shifting slightly but careful not to disturb Hikari. “I grew up in a Catholic church.”

“That’s…odd,” I blurt, not stopping to wonder if it’s rude to say. He doesn’t seem the religious type, especially not a religion with such a small following in Japan.

“Yeah, I know, trust me,” he replies, looking just past me as he thinks. “Momma and Daddy met pretty young. Momma was a Theology major from France on a student exchange program. I guess they got along pretty well immediately because he fell in love with her religion and she moved here as soon as she graduated and they got married.”

“Wow. That’s not a story you hear very often,” I say, wondering how much more like a romcom this could sound. In a good way, though. In a way that makes you believe in love.

“No, you don’t. They probably would’ve done better if Daddy moved to France instead of the other way around, but he opened up a church here in Sendai, and even got his friend to join him in studying to become ministers,” he continues, and I start to think I should stop him as his eyes glaze over and his hand tightens into the blanket on his knee, but the expression disappears rather quickly and he blinks as if to clear his vision.

“My sister and I came shortly after and, well, here I am,” he smiles, but it’s weak and forced. “Not as action packed as yours but what can you do?”

I stay quiet, wanting to ask more, but I stop myself. I want to know where his parents are now, what it is that caused that look in his eyes, but I can’t bring myself to speak.

“So what did you want to be before Chief Mom of Steel convinced you to join the police force?” He asks, breaking the silence as if the air between us isn’t thick and awkward with too much curiosity.

“What?”

“You had a dream, didn’t you? Something outlandish or not lucrative enough to gain approval?” He explains, finally meeting my eyes with some sort of liquid warmth I know is fake but I can’t help but trust. “I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“A rock star, I answer, running a hand through my hair, embarrassed. “I wanted to be the next Jimmy Page.”

“That’s quite the dream,” he smiles, hiding a laugh behind his hand. “Were you any good?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling too. “My music experience extends about as far as two years of trombone in middle school. I just sat in my room alone a lot listening to angry rock music and imagining myself smashing a guitar on stage or something.”

“Aww, I was picturing you in some shitty teen spirit garage band with your buddies all wearing ripped jeans and tattered flannel driving the neighborhood crazy. Bummer.”

“I had the fashion but not the band,” I tell him, feigning defensiveness when he laughs again. “And what? Did you run around with cardboard box space helmets in your backyard looking for UFOs?”

“I did, actually,” he says, smile growing by the second. “And I found one too, but my sister Kaori said I just saw an airplane and then Daddy told me the only thing up in space was God Almighty.”

His smile lingers but the joy leaves his face, eyes darting down as if he’s struggling to keep that glazed look from returning. I don’t know what it is about that look, but it worries me, even though it’s the deepest level of his masks I’ve seen yet. It makes me afraid to see what’s at the end.

“Sounds like a fun guy,” I mutter, the warm air of reminiscence suddenly gone, replaced by something more sinister. Something telling me I shouldn’t let my guard down.

“Don’t,” he whispers, eyes narrowing but not meeting mine.

I don’t know what he means, but I feel the need to apologize.

“Tooru-,”

“It’s getting late,” he says suddenly, cutting me off and finally looking up with a fresh new blank mask on his face. “I should get going.”

“Oh, yeah,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head to clear it. “Thanks for stopping by. Hikari had a great time.”

“So did I,” he says, back to his usual charming self.

He slides Hikari’s head off his thigh carefully, quickly replacing it with a pillow. She doesn’t even notice the movement. With one quick swoop he presses a kiss to my temple from behind the couch and leaves, Hikari’s small snores the only noise left behind.

I stay still, thinking back on everything that just happened and searching for anything that would explain it. What spurred his changes, what they mean, how I let any of this get this far in the first place.

It’s all so confusing, yet it pulls me in like a disaster you can’t tear your eyes away from.

He’s a mystery I want to unravel, but I can’t help but feel as if I’ll unravel myself in the process.


	7. Stargazing - Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I remember all the things we once shared,  
> Watching T.V. movies on the living room armchair.  
> But they say it will work out fine.  
> Was it all a waste of time. 
> 
> 'Cause I knew, I knew,  
> I'd lose you.  
> You'll always be special to me,  
> Special to me, to me. 
> 
> \- The Cranberries

The phone against my ear rings, long an incessant, over and over until finally stopping, leaving a void where the sound had been pounding. I expect the voicemail message to play, but instead I’m greeted by a groggy yet concerned “hello?” that brings a grin to my face.

“Hey. Did I wake you?” I ask, shifting the phone between my head and shoulder so it doesn’t fall while I turn to the faucet in front of me.

“Tooru, it’s,” Yachi pauses, a staticky sound coming from the receiver as she looks at it and presses it back to her ear. “4am! What’s going on? I answered thinking you were in trouble or something! Don’t scare me like that!”

“The time must have gotten away from me,” I say, running the utensils in my hand under the stream of water, watching the red run from pink to yellow and finally clear, swirling down the drain and leaving spotless porcelain white behind. “I just had a quick question.”

“What is it,” she sighs, worry leaving her voice and making way for tiredness.

“Is Kiyoko working the morning shift today?” I ask, leaving the sink and picking up a bottle of disinfectant spray, turning it on all the surfaces I’d just been working on.

“You called to ask me that? Of course she is, Tooru, she’s the _morning shift manager_ ,” Yachi answers, as close to anger as she ever gets, which comes across as more exasperated annoyance than anything else. Though it seems to be becoming much more common when we interact lately.

“You’re right. Didn’t think of that.” I finish wiping the counters and toss the paper towels into a bin by the center table, followed by my plastic gloves.

“Is that all?” Yachi asks, the hint of a whine at the back of her throat. I almost feel bad for keeping her up but not quite. “I have about an hour and a half before my alarm goes off and I’d like to fall back asleep before then.”

“Almost. I’m going to need to call in sick today and I don’t want Kiyoko to be the one to answer the phone,” I admit, finally pulling the phone from against my shoulder and stretching out my stiff neck.

“What? Again? You’ve missed five days out of the last two weeks! We’ve been so understaffed in the morning because of you, Tooru!” I try to imagine poor Yachi and Kiyoko holding down the store with only Kenma and Hinata until Asahi and Tsukishima show up around noon, and I’m surprised the store hasn’t resorted to Lord of the Flies level anarchy yet.

“No one really believes you’re sick. What’s going on?”

“I just…have some things to take care of,” I mumble, dropping into my chair with a huff and looking over at the table in the center of the room.

On it lays a loosely tied plastic bag next to a rather large cardboard shipping box. I never knew the post office gave those away so easily. How convenient.

“Just some errands to run. I’ll be back soon, promise,” I tell Yachi, trying to put on my best convincing voice that she knows is complete bullshit.

“Tooru…,”

“So can you help me or not?” My patience is growing thin with every second closer the clock ticks toward sunrise. These things have such delicate windows of opportunity.

“Call in at exactly 8am and I’ll make sure she’s out of her office. And you’d better sound like you’re on death’s door on the voicemail, Tooru, I mean it,” she says with a sigh, and I can practically feel her rubbing at her eyes. “Make it convincing.”

“I’ll give an Oscar worthy performance,” I beam; hoping she can hear the smile in my voice. “I owe you my life, Hitoka.”

“Give me some honesty and we might start to call it even,” she quips, and I’m surprised by the snark in it. It’s very un-Yachi like.

“Sorry. We’re fresh out of honesty today; you’re free to check back tomorrow.”

“Don’t make it a habit, okay? This is the last time,” she tells me, completely ignoring the statement. Though it’s just as well.

“You got it, love,” I tell her, hoping it’s true. “I’ll be in tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah right,” she mumbles. “See you tomorrow.”

I hang up and slip the phone in my back pocket, clapping and rubbing my hand together with almost cartoonish excitement. With that task out of the way I can get to work, _real_ work, a thin crocodile smile spreading on my face as I skip up to the box.

“Alright. Let’s get started, shall we?” I rub a hand against the side before lifting it on one hip and grabbing the trash bag in my other hand, a sickening sloshing sound coming from inside.

Carrying them up the stairs goes slower than I’d like, but soon we’re all nestled in the truck, the bag in the bed and the box safely belted in place in the passenger seat.

The first stop isn’t far away, and although it’s the easiest task of the morning it makes my blood pump the fastest. The police station rises like a shining beacon in the view of my windshield, and my fingers drum against the steering wheel as I scan the parking lot, almost expecting to see Iwaizumi’s car in its usual spot.

The lot is mostly empty as expected, with no sign of life in or around the building. Perfect conditions, though, I expected nothing less. In matters such as this one must always strive for perfection.

I stop near the door, leaving the truck in gear and the engine gently humming as I hop out, opening the passenger door to unbelt the box an pull it out.

I feel almost naked standing before the front door with the package in my hands, like a child with their hand plunged deep inside the cookie jar, yet I feel no desire to hide. The breeze blowing against my cheek and ruffling my hair in the shadow cast from the thin yellow glow of the lights beyond the windows screams freedom and I almost don’t want to leave.

But the slightly purpling skyline sets me back on my path, threatening the approach of dawn as I set the package down in front of the double doors. I tap the label on the box with a smile, the words ‘To Detective Iwaizumi’ almost warm beneath my fingertips as I smile again and turn away.

I almost wish I could be there to see him open his present, to see the exact look on his face as he locks eyes with what’s inside, but I’m on a time limit, and there’s still so much to do.

I never would’ve come up with this plan if not for the news and their consistency in sticking their microphone noses where they don’t belong. For the last couple weeks Iwaizumi has been the highlight of every news network every night, the brilliant young detective leading what is expected to be one of the largest murder cases in decades, with half a dozen bodies already placed under the name of an unknown killer. All information on the case coming from untraceable outside sources, of course, since stoic Iwaizumi and his colleagues haven’t said a word.

It’s almost like dissociating, watching every installment of the nightly news to see reporters shoving cameras in his face as he leaves the station, shouting questions over one another and hoping each new inhale of breath will be some coded message as an answer and then some nights seeing him shortly after and finding the places where equipment brushed his cheek or curious hands grazed his back. And all the while, knowing that my name is the one they want to hear on his lips even though neither party is aware of it.

Once the first person talked, some time shortly after he told me a second body was found, the reporters started to pour in, followed shortly by anonymous tips on where to find more. Every day it seemed there was a new find, some mine and some not. Under cars in wreckage yards, buried just to the sides on hiking trails, scattered amongst the other trash in heaps at garbage dumps, they were starting to learn my usual spots.

But none of it matters, because I am still one step ahead of them, and by morning they will know who’s really in control.

The plan came to me a few days ago; when Iwaizumi let something slip he knew he shouldn’t have. A well placed tape recorder and a quick phone call and everything was out, headlines seeming to flash on TVs almost simultaneously as the words ‘Puzzle Box Killer’ left his lips.

I didn’t think anything of it until that night when he said the name again but only where I could hear. He said it at almost a whisper, like a dirty word he couldn’t be caught repeating. It set a shadow over the green of his eyes that lit a fire behind my own, and I felt like a child with a new toy.

Puzzle Box, they were calling me, so a puzzle I would give them.

The puzzle came in the form of a young girl with short blonde hair not unlike Yachi’s, except she had longer legs and dimmer eyes, no sign of motherly warmth or a gentle sense of overwhelming need to love, to understand.

That’s what Yachi is, a small girl with a big heart she has no idea what to do with. But this girl was not Yachi, and her scream was not something I would expect to hear from my dear friend. Too deep and guttural, like sand was raking the sides of her throat. I’m sure Yachi would produce a much cleaner sound.

The girl was easy enough to take apart, and easier still to scatter. By the time the sun is all the way in the sky, turning it pale blue and removing any traces of orange dawn, the black trash bag is half emptied. All that’s remaining inside are an arm and a leg, their twins resting somewhere not quite hidden, since finding them is the point of the game.

The right leg, still pale and slender despite the smears of brown along soft skin, bent as if resting beside an alleyway dumpster, the arm with painted blue fingertips gently grazing the bottom of a park fountain, and a torso clinging to a dark pink bloodstained tank top sitting upright on a bus stop bench. All set out quickly and effortlessly, a clean sweep before anyone even knew to bat an eye.

The last two go just as easily, the last leg in the still dewy soccer field in a school yard and the arm in a shopping cart terminal of a grocery store. I make sure to shove the empty bag deep in a trash bin before climbing back into the truck, leaving the empty parking lot before the first employees of the day start to trickle in.

I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest, beating like hummingbird wings as I struggle to contain the giddy grin breaking across my face, the feeling only amplified by the idea of calls slowly coming in to the police station, of the horrified faces of those unlucky enough to find the pieces of my game. I let it go, a bubble of laughter forcing its way between my lips as my foot grows heavy against the gas pedal, windows rolled down and cold wind whipping my hair as the laughter escalates.

I thought about maybe leaving the body whole, that is to not take my usual souvenir, but I couldn’t risk them mistaking this as anything other than my work. I can’t let some copy cat killer get the credit for this. I need the police to know exactly who is toying with them, and exactly why.

The choice was a rather quick one, and my laughter starts up again just thinking about it. The middle finger sitting in a bowl in my freezer has quickly become one of my favorite pieces, a metaphorical ‘fuck you’ to the police. I couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

My hand itches toward my pocket, wanting to pull out my phone and call Iwaizumi and see if my package was safely delivered, but I know better. I’ve worked too hard to throw everything away in a quick moment of hubris, but _god_ I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he opens it. I want real recognition instead of whatever stigma will be placed on the name ‘Puzzle Box Killer’. I want my face paired with my actions, but I know that won’t happen until I’m behind bars or dead in the ground.

My imagination will have to do for now, until later when he recounts it for me with my teeth on his neck and hand in his hair. Until then I will have to get by just picturing the surprise on his face quickly replaced by remorse and fiery anger to the set of his jaw. I’ll have to visualize cold dead eyes set deep in paper white skin that was so alive and flush just hours before reflected in the murky green of his irises. It’s a beautiful mental picture, probably even better than what’s actually happening, only trumped by the thought of the color draining from his face as he finds the note tucked carefully behind her ear, covered slightly by that silky blonde hair, four simple words setting everything in motion.

**Put me back together.**

My hand almost shook as I wrote it, from anticipation or excitement I’m not sure, and knowing that those words would reach Iwaizumi directly feeling like instant gratification. I’ve killed so many people, but I don’t think it’s ever felt this good. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed it so much without danger just ahead of me, without the threat literally in my bed.

Call it masochism or what you will, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been this happy.

I pull into my garage as cars along the street start to leave their own driveways, the world beginning to stir and head off to work or school or other normal daily activities, but I do not leave the cab. Instead I breathe, slowly in and out and letting everything stew in my mind. The game is set, and now all I have left to do is wait for the pieces to move about the board, forming fruitless strategies and treading carefully as I watch from afar, knowing everything.

I have laid the foundation of a puzzle for Iwaizumi to solve, pieces to put together, and I can’t wait until he reaches the end. I can’t wait for him to come to me to unravel his stress, to listen to his strife and wipe away his stress with the same hands that caused it.

Maybe someday I’ll be the one playing the game of putting _him_ back together, though I doubt he’ll be whole by the time I’m finished. 

***

The call comes late in the evening, vibrating against my thigh just as expected. The sun has already sunk below the horizon, leaving streaks of shadow across the unfamiliar dashboard before me.

I fumble with the phone in my gloved hands as I pull it from my jeans, waiting a few seconds before answering as to not seem too eager, though I can’t hide the smirk in my voice when I finally do.

“Rough day?”

There’s a pause, and I start to wonder if he dialed me by accident before he sighs, an exhale of static breath against the speaker.

“How’d you know?”

“Educated guess. Why else would you be calling?” I ask, watching as a triangle of yellow light spills across the alleyway ahead of me and a rather large man leads a very unsteady woman out of the building. He doesn’t make eye contact as he passes the car, and I shrug. It’s nice when strangers don’t get involved with each other’s business.

“You got me,” Iwaizumi says, voice low and breathy, slightly echoing in my ears. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” I deadpan, hand gripping the steering wheel. I’ve been waiting all day to hear his voice, recounting the horrors of his day, but just a while longer won’t be so bad, I tell myself. He’ll crack soon enough.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just don’t have time to explain right n- occupied!” I pull the phone away as he suddenly yells, and he’s grumbling something about knocking and common decency as I hold it close again.

“Are you…in the bathroom?” I ask, a chuckle at the end of my words, imagining him with his knees pulled up on a toilet seat, shoulders barely fitting between the dingy plastic dividers.

“It’s the only place they’ll leave me alone,” he tells me, and I can hear the exhaustion and frustration dripping sluggishly in his voice, like slimy saliva off of a dog’s teeth.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Damn,” I mutter, as if I have no idea. It’s a shame I never got into acting. “So my place or yours?”

His voice lowers even more, less need for privacy and more gruff hunger, a decibel that belongs to my ears only.

“Actually, I can’t leave yet, so I was thinking-,”

“Really, Hajime? Again? I think I almost pulled something last time. They just don’t make back seats big enough,” I whine, only half an act.

“Call that a practice session,” he responds, a smile playing at his words. “This time will be better, promise.”

“If you say so,” I sigh, checking the clock on the radio. “But you can have _your_ back pressed against the cup holder this time. How’s that?”

“Whatever, I don’t care.” There’s a neediness to it that spreads a wicked smile across my face, too toothy to be warm. “How long?”

I peer over my shoulder to the form splayed across the backseat, silent and heavy. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Alright. See you.”

Neither of us says goodbye before hanging up. Whatever this is it isn’t a situation that requires formalities.

“So,” I say, turning in my seat to face the man again. “I’m going to have to cut this short, something’s come up. I’m terribly sorry.”

The man doesn’t move, the only sound in the car being the steady drip as his blood drains onto the carpeted floorboards.

I was almost lazy with this one, finding an easy target in an easy spot, cutting his throat and ending it almost as quickly as I got him back into the car, which admittedly was not very long. The gesture was more to give me something to do rather than to serve any purpose. My brain can only focus on one objective today.

I look over the body, laying flat on his chest, thin green shirt riding up on his back and exposing smooth skin, just a hint of muscle definition underneath. He was attractive, yes, with shaggy hair the color of sand and a genuinely bright smile over a broad chest, but definitely one of the worst conversational partners I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.

It took everything in me not to snap and tell him no one gives a fuck about the grindr date that stood him up or how many gin and tonics he could knock back and still be ‘way fine to drive’, as if it was some badge of honor. I let him spill his guts to me though, a smile on my face the whole time as he got deeper with every burning shot down his throat with an unknown time limit of functionality.

“It all started when I bought Yogurt,” he had told me, sloppy and slurring as he showed me far too many pictures of a hideous small white dog with a severe under bite on his phone.

Apparently, the purchase of the dog as an anniversary gift for a long term live in boyfriend led to the shocking discovery that said boyfriend was allergic, spurring an argument over how Dog-Gifter never truly listened to the needs of Dog-Recipient. Thus ended the relationship, leading the two of us to the same smoky bar counter as the man drank himself into oblivion after failing to score in his rebound efforts.

God, do I have a great nose for the most pathetic chump in a room.

Long story short he couldn’t actually hold back that many gin and tonics, so I offered to drive him home. One thing led to the next, and I expect little Yogurt might not get any kibble tonight.

I lean over, the shoulder of the seat pressing against my chest as I push him limply, his head rolling to the side. I look over the body, wondering what I can take quickly and cleanly. Being on a time limit makes things harder, and the parking spot near the side of the alleyway is definitely not ideal.

“Shit,” I mumble, considering coming back later, no matter how stupid it sounds, when a glint in the darkness catches my eye. “Perfect.”

I grin as I lift his arm, slipping the watch over his hand easily. I’ve never taken an inorganic souvenir before, but this will have to do. I clip it into place on my own wrist, feeling the lightness of the clearly fake band, admiring the scratches and places where the gold plating began to wear off. It’s already growing on me.

Without wasting any more time I slip out of the car as casually as I can, quietly making my way to my own waiting on the other side of the parking lot. Today really is a day of firsts, I think as the engine purrs to life, my headlights illuminating a path on the dark uneven asphalt. The game, the watch, and now leaving a body in the place it was killed instead of moving it, hiding it.

Some would call it reckless, and I can’t say I haven’t pondered the word myself, but it doesn’t matter. I am growing stronger by the second. Every moment spent with Iwaizumi, every crack in the road beneath my tires brings me closer and closer to invincibility.

Who can stop me when I have the police themselves like putty in my hands, unknowingly whispering secrets in my ears and tearing down their own operation? What chess piece could be in a stronger position than where I sit now? Like a throne of cold obsidian above a marble square.

No matter what I do they cannot stop me.

I pull into the police station before I know it, barely having noticed the commute. It feels like coming full circle, closing off the day that started and ended here, ready or the grand finale. I park on the side where the station vehicles are kept, between two old vans that look like they haven’t been used for years with a cinderblock fence topped with barbed wire before me. It’s snug and quiet, and Iwaizumi handpicked it himself the last time I was here, muttering something about no one coming to bother us with his mouth on the underside of my jaw.

A quick text, a short wait, and the passenger door is being pulled open as a frazzled looking Iwaizumi climbs in.

“Well don’t you look…nice,” I smirk, eyeing his disheveled hair as if he’d been pulling at it with clenched fists for hours just above darkly circled eyes that I can’t tell how much the moonlight is exaggerating. “You kno-,”

He leans forward suddenly, cradling the back of my head in one hand before pressing his mouth to mine, much gentler than I expected. I’ve grown so used to frantic hands and rough touches. His lips are dry and taste of stale coffee, but this is the taste of futility. The caffeine stained breath of a man who believes he has a chance but can’t see the opponent in front of him.

“After the day I’ve had I think I’ve fared pretty well,” he breathes, leaning back and squeezing his eyes shut as if the brief darkness will relieve a fraction of his exhaustion.

“Actually, It’s kind of hot,” I tell him, reaching forward to tug lightly on the loosened tie barely clinging to his shirt collar. “It makes you look rugged and sexy.”

“I guess that’s better than angry and tired,” he chuckles, hand trailing from my hair down the side of my arm and back up. Softly second nature.

“No the anger is definitely part of it,” I say, waiting patiently for him to talk, suspense in my veins. I feel like a child awaiting praise, needing so badly for him to tell me what I did and just how _good_ it was. Explain to me this brilliant killer, this indomitable enemy, the monster you just can’t top.

Well…figuratively.

“I don’t think I’m angry, actually,” Iwaizumi says, almost a whisper, traveling short and husky in the small space as his hand stops it’s movement and he stares just past me. “Well, no, I’m definitely mad, fucking _furious_ , but more than that I’m disgusted and almost…impressed.”

I purr, unable to stop the sound of gratification in the base of my throat, but Iwaizumi doesn’t notice. He’s gone, zoned out into his own world, the horrors of his day ghosting across his eyes and making my skin tingle.

“I just…,” he sighs, turning back to me as a crease forms between his eyebrows and his jaw clicks as he snaps it shut just to reopen it. “They’re playing games with us now. They left pieces of a girl all over town this morning, and sent us an open invitation to come collect her. Five pieces, five chances for someone to see them, for any type of trail to be left behind, for _anything_ to give us some insight and _nothing_. No trace, just the mutilated corpse of a girl and a big fuck you to the police.”

“Five pieces?” I ask, trying to maintain the proper level of concern and curiosity to not seem suspicious.

“Well, excluding her head. They left that in a box on the station doorstep.”

 He pauses, swallowing hard as if he’s pushing down the sick taste of the words on his tongue, and I am trying so hard to keep my face calm, to keep my hands still and not to lunge forward and press him against the car window, the reward for my good work. My reward for winning our little game.

He takes a deep breath, returning to that quietly almost awestruck expression. “I just don’t know how they’re doing it.”

“He sounds like a real piece of work,” I say, keeping the breathiness out of my voice. “Coming at you so personally like that. Do you think it’s because of the news coverage?”

His brows knit together and he sits back a bit, eyeing me curiously. “You think the killer is a man?”

My chest tightens, immediately sensing danger, that I did something wrong. The intrigue in Iwaizumi’s eyes spells nothing but danger to me, an unperceived threat with nowhere to run.

My hand inches towards the car’s center console, one quick movement separating me from the box cutter that still smells of iron. This is not how I expected it to happen, how I _wanted_ it to happen, but I can’t hesitate.

The surprise and fear inside of me quickly turns to anger. Anger at myself for ruining things when we were so close to climax. I wanted this to end so much better than disappointment and a mess on my leather upholstery.

“I mean, these cases usually are, aren’t they?” I shrug, not showing a trace of my panic but keeping my hand firmly ready. “I don’t claim to be a psychologist or anything it’s just a guess.”

“No, you’re right,” he replies, easy as if there was nothing suspicious at all about my words. “I’m not so sure though.”

“Really?” I ask, allowing myself to breathe again but not letting down my guard. “Why’s that?”

“It’s just that his killer is so _odd_ ,” he tells me, piquing my interest again. “I’ve never read of someone like them. You see, with male serial killers there’s often a focus on one type of victim, usually based on gender or appearance, and many times there’s a sexual component to their motives. But these victims are all over the place; male, female, small, large. There’s no real distinction, and there’s no sign of sexual assault in any way, or trauma of any sort other than the actual cause of death and the signature trophy removal.”

“Interesting,” I mumble, trying not to seem too intrigued, my senses still on high alert.

“But then again I’m not sure a woman would be able to do everything we’ve seen without poison or help of some sort. Lugging a human being around isn’t easy, and we haven’t gotten anything suspicious in the toxicology reports,” he pauses, realizing how much he’s been saying. “They’re unique, I guess. And that just doesn’t bode very well for the good guys.”

“But the good guys always win in the end, don’t they?” I smirk, finally relaxing and moving my hand back to my lap, my shoulders slumping slightly from the lack of tension.

“This isn’t a movie,” he mutters, that distantly sad expression returning.

I reach forward and cup his face, smiling as he leans his cheek into my palm and sighs, a bit of melancholy melting away.

“Thanks,” he says, suddenly meeting me with those intense green eyes, the color of vulnerability in the dark. “For coming.”

“You say that as if this isn’t fun for me too,” I chuckle, moving my fingers through the short sides of his hair. “Ever heard of mutually beneficial?”

“I know, it’s just-,”

“Shhh,” I coo, pressing a finger to his lips to stop him from saying something we’ll probably both regret.

I move as smoothly as I can over the center console and into his lap, leg bent on either side of his as I replace my finger with a kiss, his hands automatically moving to my sides.

They travel beneath my shirt in no time, my arms locking behind his head as he deepens the kiss, hungry as he licks and bites everything he can reach, drinking in more and more, Sometimes it’s like a battle of greed between us; who can touch more, who can take more, who can dominate and emerge victorious, and I revel in it.

We somehow end up in the back seat, with the cupholders thankfully lifted up and his pants halfway down his thighs when his phone lets out a piercing ring, so jarring juxtaposed with the sounds of heavy breathing and smacking lips.

Iwaizumi pulls back, his legs heavy against mine as he sits back slightly still straddling my waist to check the caller.

“Shit, it’s Kuroo,” he says, frowning in the sudden brightness of the screen in his face. “They probably need me back.”

“Mmm, but we aren’t done,” I purr, propping myself up with one hand and pressing my face to his chest.

“I didn’t mean to take this long, I really should head in,” he continues, setting the phone on the seat and ducking his head to kiss my shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

“Hajime,” I whisper, looking up at him through my lashes and quickly pressing my lips to the spot just between his ribs. “Stay.”

I lean back against the seats, hooking my finger in one of his loosened belt loops and pulling him down with me. He follows easily, and I smile as his lips find mine again, hands fumbling with my own clothes. “Alright, but we have to make it quick.”

I hum in reply, realizing that I’m the winner of this round. He’s putty in my hands, wanting more and more and not knowing that he has none of me and I own all of him. My hands are brand marks on his skin, my lips leaving a trail of slick tattoos declaring my property.

Only one of us can be triumphant in the end. Only one of us will see what’s truly inside the other, what makes us tick on a biological level, what’s really inside of us lying just under the surface.

Only one can remain in the same world, our roles too large to leave room for coexistence. The hero or the monster, the morally just detective or the cold blooded killer, our paths and limbs and animal instincts entwined in so many more ways than he realizes. There can only be _one_.

And as he moves above me, sweating and shuddering, fingertips melting against skin and heart beating so fast I can taste its undulations on the thick moist air, I already know the ending.

I know, with every fiber of my being, gulping for breath and fighting for a rougher touch, a quicker pace, a stronger grip, that I’ve already won.

All that’s left is to claim my prize.

***

It might be the smell that wakes me. The scent that forms from coming home and peeling off your clothes still damp with sweat and mouth still tasting of salt and coffee just to crawl between the unwashed sheets and fall straight to sleep. This combination of cold iron touched air mixed with that of steamy desperation and craving.

Or maybe it’s the sudden flood of light and shrill shouting piercing just through that membrane of consciousness separating sleep from coherence.

I blink a few times, confused at the brightness and even more so when the blanket over my back is ripped off and cold air hits my skin.

“God, Tooru, put some clothes on,” the voice says, the first thing I distinguish from the noise. I don’t even have time to roll over before a drawer is slammed shut and a pair of pajama pants land on the back of my head.

“Morning, ‘Toka,” I mumble, grabbing the pants and lifting my head to find a very ruffled looking Yachi standing near the window with arms crossed over her thin frame, face red and foot tapping.

“Is it?”

I groan and start to shove my face back into the pillow before she pounces on me, pulling the pillow out from beneath me and letting my head hit the flat mattress.

“Oh no you don’t. We need to talk so put your pants on and GET UP!” She yells, and I frown at the way her voice bounces uncomfortably loud against the wood paneled walls.

“Hey, shhh,” I tell her, snapping both eyes open and finally sitting up. “You know Daddy doesn’t like noise so early in the morning.”

For a second her face blanches, and I feel all traces of tiredness leave my body, like a splash of cold water to both of us.

“It’s almost 6pm,” Yachi breathes, her expression so sad that I expect her to actually shed a tear. Instead she shakes her head, letting the anger return, diluted but still present. “By the way it smells like a locker room in here. When’s the last time you showered?”

“Uh, what day is it?” I ask, yawning and looking out the window, raising an eyebrow at how low the sun sits in the sky.

“Thursday.”

“Then…Monday night,” I tell her, thinking back on my activities over the last few days. “Or Tuesday morning. Look, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, cut the bullshit,” she snaps, completely unexpected though definitely not undeserved. “You _promised_ me!”

I stand up to pull on the pants she threw at me, chuckling lightly at the way she turns her head waiting for me to get decent. You’d think after almost twenty years of friendship she’d be able to see me in my underwear.

“I rarely make promises. It’s bad for my reputation.”

“You said if I covered for you that you’d come into work today,” she shoots back, glaring when I drop on the bed again. “Kiyoko wants to fire you and now I look bad for defending you. If she finds out I helped you lie she’ll get rid of us both.”

“She won’t find out,” I roll my eyes, putting my hands behind my head and leaning against the headboard just to cross them back over my chest. Yachi is right I smell disgusting. “And she won’t fire you; you’re the only other person she can count on. She needs you.”

“She can replace me.”

“I don’t think anyone can replace you,” I say, not quite thinking about the words until her cheeks go a delicate pink and a bit of sadness returns to her eyes, but it’s true.

Not another person on earth knows as much about me as she does. Not Momma or Daddy, not Hajime, not my almost nonexistent sister. No one. She’s been by my side for so long that I never truly thought about what would happen is she wasn’t. Who would I be without her? Would I have already fallen apart if I had been alone this whole time?

Yachi might be my closet my friend, my only confidant, and also my biggest threat. How ironic that she’s so afraid of Iwaizumi, so scared of him learning what she already knows, as if he could hurt me so badly when she’s the one that could tear me down farther and faster than he could ever imagine in his wettest dreams.

She is poison powdering the edge of my glass. She is a foot poised to kick the chair from beneath me as my head rests in a noose. She is a blade to my throat, a finger on the trigger of the gun pointed between my eyes, tiny hands wrapped around my neck. All of the dangers I’ve tried to keep so far away from me wrapped into one sweet and cute little package.

If Iwaizumi and I are the hero and villain locked in this bloody chess match of wits and worth she is the one adding ink to the lines of our pages, able to turn the tables whichever way she pleases, and all it would take is one quick strike to remove her and let the color run freely over the edges.

She has always stuck to my script, but I can’t kick the feeling that she is reaching her breaking point. I can’t help but picture the crocodile finally snapping his jaws shut on the little bird sitting among his teeth.

“Tooru?”

My head snaps up, realizing I was zoning out as I meet Yachi’s concerned looking gaze.

“Sorry,” I say, smiling to reassure her but figuring it comes out much less friendly than I expected by the look on her face. She looks at me as if she knows exactly what I was just thinking, the same way she’s always looked at me. “Did you say something?”

She sighs, deflating a little as if she could only hold anger inside of her for so long and she reached the limit, her spell wearing off at midnight as she returns to the cute little mouse I’m used to.

She steps forward and sits on the edge of my bed, pulling her legs up to her chest and looking at me with big pleading brown eyes. She sets her chin on her knees, and for a moment I feel ten again, having a sleepover before church on Sunday morning when the sun would sink too fast and curiosity and honesty would pepper our words as time seemed to stop moving, allowing just us to exist.

Except I’m not ten, my green UFO sheets have long since been changed, a watered down glass of whiskey replaces the bible on my nightstand, and love has long since stopped being something I see in the way Yachi looks at me. I don’t know when that started, but I’m sure it was some time after she realized my affections never came from the same place.

Yachi loved me like a brother, wholeheartedly and unconditionally, and I have only ever loved her back as an outlet. The one place I could be myself, to even gloat my successes.

If there was one thing I’ve ever done in my life that made me feel the least bit sorry, it would be allowing Yachi to show me her pure and beautiful heart and claiming part of it for myself. The most disgusting of my actions has always been taking her offer as she gave me her love so freely in the palm of her hands.

If she ever did turn on me, if she let go of my dangling form from the precipice we both cling to, I wouldn’t consider it such a failure. But I know that her grip is too strong and her soul still clear enough to not be able to watch my body hit the rocks down below.

“What have you been doing, Tooru?” Yachi asks, as if she can’t see both of our lives flashing before my eyes. “I’m not mad, I’m just worried. _So_ worried. You’ve barely spoken to me since the river, and then this detective thing, and now you’re missing work? I want the truth. I need to know. I think I deserve it.”

“Are you s-,”

“Yes I’m sure! Don’t coddle me, Tooru. Tell me what’s happening with you,” she pleads, and I can see the dark circles under her eyes, making me wonder how long she had to convince herself to do this. “Truth. Please.”

“Let’s make a deal,” I start, holding up my hands defensively as she narrows her eyebrows at my words. “Make some coffee, I’m gonna take a shower, and then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

She sighs, shoulders slumping with something I can’t discern between relief and exhaustion.  “Alright. Deal.”

I take longer in the shower than I’m sure she’s expecting, trying to scrub the nostalgia from my skin along with the sweat and dirt and Iwaizumi’s scent still clinging in my pores like the whisper of a memory.

There’s a pile of clean clothes on the counter when I step out, the neatly folded shirt a faded burgundy color I almost forgot existed. The soft cotton falls into place as if no time has passed at all, the hem barely touching the waistband of my pants as ‘Sacred Heart of Sendai’ spreads across my chest.

I have no idea what bottom drawer Yachi dug this out of but it only makes me think more about how different the two of us are from the kids who hid these shirts in our bags when we were made to wear them to school to promote the church.

My bedroom is dark when I walk back in except for the small lamp beside the bed, one of the only pieces of furniture that hasn’t changed. My breath catches in my throat as I catch sight of Yachi, blonde hair let down to brush her shoulders as she teeters in the thick sill below the window, knees bent and wearing one of my old pairs of pajama pants covered in little orange goldfish. I swallow thickly before stepping forward.

“We don’t quite fit anymore, do we?” I ask, running a hand along the dusty wood, remembering how we’d huddle here during those late night talks.

“It’s tight but I think we can manage.”

She pulls her feet back as I squeeze onto the flat space, our knees knocking together as I try to lean my weight against the glass to stay up.

“See? Perfect,” Yachi smiles, no gaps of missing teeth or rosy chipmunk cheeks. Adult Yachi, current Yachi, with the weight of so much bullshit sitting on her shoulders.

“Or as close as we can get,” I reply, watching the city lights twinkle before us. The view from the second story was always pretty great, especially being so far away from the tall apartment building closer to the center of town. Maybe that what always got us talking, seeing the dark urban sprawl but not actually feeling a part of it from up high in our spectator’s seat.

“Here,” she says, pulling me back to the room again as she reaches for one of the mugs on the little desk below us where we used to stack bowls of popcorn and soda cans. It’s one of the old chipped blue ones Momma would use for breakfast since I had slippery fingers and she didn’t trust me using the delicate pink ones.

“Thanks,” I mumble, taking it and immediately lifting it to my lips, craving the caffeine in my veins but being met with an unexpected flavor. “Cocoa?”

“Sorry. I had a craving,” she shrugs, lifting her own steaming mug up and taking a sip with a satisfied smile.

“No it’s perfect. Really,” I tell her, taking another drink and letting the thick milk mixture coat my tongue.

“Do you remember that night we rented Jeepers Creepers and I was so afraid to go to bed that we sat up here all night and you pointed out constellations to me until we couldn’t see them anymore?” She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but I laugh lightly remembering the way she hid beneath our blanket on the couch clinging to my arm for dear life.

“Yeah. You started counting to the twenty third spring so we could be prepared when the monster came back,” I say, watching a smile form on her own lips.

“We still have seven more springs in case you were wondering,” she grins, pushing my leg with her knee when I laugh again. “Hey, it was scary!”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

She shakes her head, pushing the memories of bloody monsters and screaming teenagers from her mind before turning back to the window. “I just remember being amazed at how much you knew. The place where each constellation was, the names of the start that made them up, even the stories people used wrote to go with them. There was so much brightness in your eyes as you talked and talked, and I didn’t know whether to watch the sky or you. I miss that smile. Your real smile.”

“Yeah, well, a lot has happened since then,” I breathe, staring down into my mug so I won’t have to meet her eyes.

“I know. I just can’t help but want to see it again. To see you as happy as you were when you still looked up at the stars.” I can hear the way her voice almost breaks, but it doesn’t. She is as tough as ever.

“I _am_ happy.”

“Where have you been, Tooru,” she asks again, and finally the nostalgia takes over. Finally I give her the truth she’s been waiting for.

Starting from the night at the river I tell her everything. About the things I’ve done since then, every person I’ve hurt and every lie I’ve told,  every piece of information Iwaizumi has given me and every way I’ve used it against him. I tell her about the broken girl I sent to him this morning, and about the reward I received for it. I even tell her about the man I left in the bar parking lot. Every step I’ve taken, every life I’ve stolen, every kiss I’ve been given without remorse.

Yachi stays quiet, listening to my story as if I’m telling her about Zeus placing Orion the Huntsman among the stars, calm and accepting until I finish, still clutching the cold remains of her cocoa in her hands. A few minutes of silence pass before she speaks, both of us watching the ink black trees blow in the wind like undulating clouds of concentrated dark.

“Why are you doing this?” She asks finally, turning to me with a genuine question dripping from her tongue. “They’re investigating you, this detective has actual evidence and a drive to find you, and you’re just adding fuel to the fire, Tooru. He doesn’t have anything to tie it to you yet, thank God, so why are you making it worse? Why are you giving him more chances to put it all together?”

“Because he can’t get me, Hitoka. There’s no way,” I reply, feeling excitement grow in my chest as her frown deepens. “I’m four steps ahead of everything he does. I’m the puppet master, pulling the strings of his entire investigation without him having a clue.”

“No, you’re laughing in the face of danger,” she argues, voice soft and betraying the type of anger that I’m used to seeing from her. That quiet anger that bubbles near the surface, punctuated by fear and so much more frightening than the loud explosive kind.

“Haven’t I always?”

“God, and you can’t even _see_ it,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief as tears start to well on her bottom lashes, something finally breaking. “This is a game to you.”

“Of course it is, Hitoka. It’s like cops and robbers on the grass at school except with real guns and more sex,” I tell her, setting my empty mug down and leaning forward, grabbing her tiny hands in mine. “You have nothing to be worried about. I’m winning.”

Her tears start to fall, making clear tracks down the slope of her cheeks as her bottom lip quivers, irises turning to chocolate diamonds under the liquid sheen. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” I ask, something sticking in my chest.

“Watch you destroy yourself. I can’t do it, Tooru, I can’t,” she chokes, more and more tears falling as she battles to get her words out. “It’s like you’re self destructing right in front of me and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Hitoka-,”

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to throw everything away after all we’ve been through,” she sobs, letting go and dissolving into a mess of tears and incoherent babbling.

I scoot forward as best I can on the windowsill, pulling her awkwardly onto my lap and pressing her head to my chest, rubbing a hand over the back of her head, thin blonde hair slipping between my fingers. “Shhhh,” I coo, feeling tears seep into my shirt and her breaths heaving against me. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

I don’t know why I comfort her, but it feels like some natural impulse I can’t help but give into. My hand seems to know exactly how to rub soothing circles on her back and my voice knows exactly the right decibel to whisper soft comforts. Yachi fits in my arms like a child, and I do my best to hold her like someone who can make her feel safe.

Eventually the tears stop, and her breathing evens out to match the pace of my own. I lean back against the wood carefully, keeping her head on my chest like a pillow as I watch tiny cars move about the quiet street. Flashes of red and yellow as they move like illuminated bugs on darkened logs.

Yachi might be right. Maybe I am playing with fire, toying with something that is so easy to lose control of. Maybe my confidence is blinding me to the actual dangers I face. But where is the fun in that? Where is the sense of adventure and triumph at the end of the line?

If I am dancing too close to the flames then so be it. I love the way the heat touches my skin hot enough to hurt but never to burn. The feeling pushes me to move faster, to spin farther, to quicken my pace and sharpen my wit.

And if I trip, if I fall into those flames and feel their true power touch my bare flesh it will only mean that I wasn’t good enough to succeed. It would mean I lost at the game I created, and for that I would deserve ever ounce of pain thrown my way.

All I can hope is that the fire will remain as it is, completely oblivious to the movements around it, and that no one will warn it of the growing storm. I have to watch for the foot stuck in my path to help me fall. I have to make sure my one friend does not become my worst enemy.


	8. Teetering - Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's stuck with me after this huge hiatus I want to give you a ginormous thank you. I wasn't sure when I'd return to this, but I knew I wouldn't abandon it, and I'm so happy to be returning. Thank you for waiting patiently <3\. Here's this 14k monstrosity :')
> 
> Tell me, baby, what's your story  
> Where you come from  
> And where you wanna go this time?  
> Tell me, lover, are you lonely?  
> The thing we need is  
> Never all that hard to find  
> Tell me, baby, what's your story  
> Where you come from  
> And where you wanna go this time?  
> You're so lovely, are you lonely?  
> Giving up on the innocence you left behind
> 
> \- Red Hot Chili Peppers

Akaashi has always told me I have a problem letting things go. I’m not sure exactly what it is, the law enforcement background or just my personality (maybe some weird combination of both), but he’s right. I can’t ask a question without it sticking in my brain like a splinter, rubbing against my skin and irritating until I answer it. It’s not one of my better qualities, but I get my job done so there can’t be that much to complain about. 

That obsession is probably what led me here, hands hovering over my keyboard trying to justify what I’m about to do in my own mind to lessen the guilt I know will come soon after. Maybe I wouldn’t be pushed to extremes if every damn word out of Oikawa’s mouth didn’t feel like a clue to a riddle game neither of us know we’re playing. I press the keys one at a time, watching the name slowly fill the search bar on the screen in front of me. 

“Hey, boss,” a voice comes from behind me, making me jump and close the laptop on reflex before turning to meet Kuroo’s wide eyes, heat creeping up to my face. “I got those,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes at me, “reports you wanted from the morgue.”

“Oh, yeah,” I mumble, taking the stack of papers he holds out to me and setting them on my desk. “Thanks.”

“Everything okay?” he asks, and I can see a smirk start to form at the edge of his mouth, his cheeks twitching as he tries to force it down. “Because if you were watching porn, man, it’s all good-,”

“Kuroo,”

“It gets real lonely here at night, I get it,” he says, a smile bursting forth with a laugh as he backs up slightly, probably expecting me to hit him. 

“You just startled me is all,” I mumble, knowing that he won’t buy any arguments I make anyway, and that his assumptions might be better than what I was  _ actually  _ doing. 

“Yeah sure, okay,” he nods, knitting his eyebrows together in mock seriousness. “Well, I’m gonna head home and let you finish...whatever you were doing in peace.”

“Good. I can’t look at your face anymore anyway. It was ruining the mood,” I tell him, laughing as a shocked expression crosses his face. 

“Hey now, no need to get hurtful. Besides,” he stops, cupping his face between his palms. “This is pure beauty. You’d be lucky to,” he stops, frowning at the thought, “you know what I’m gonna just stop right there.”

“Thank fucking god,” I say, rubbing my temples and squeezing my eyes shut. “You really need to learn to think before you speak, man.”

“I’ll work on it,” he laughs, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and folding it over his arm. 

As Kuroo rounds the table the mood in the office softens, and I can almost feel the joking tone turn to something more serious as he turns around on the way to the elevator. I reopen the laptop and press the power button as he speaks, face betraying concern.

“Hey, you should head home soon, too. I think your car is starting to fuse to the asphalt out in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, I will,” I tell him, impatiently tapping the keys as I wait for the screen to come back to life. “You worried about me or something?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, glancing to the side. “I’m just tired of Akaashi riding my ass for letting you work so late all the time.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s gonna turn you into Akaashi 2.0 and then I’ll never get  _ anything  _ done.”

“Hm,” he nods, something in his expression saying he doesn’t think that’s such a bad thing. “Just get some sleep, alright? I mean it.”

“Pinky promise,” I mutter, the laptop screen finally lighting back up and shining bright on my face. I barely even hear the ding of the elevator or the grating sound of the door sliding open and closed, my focus back on my task. 

I reenter my search, my hand like a weight as it hits the enter key too loudly in the silent office, my stomach twisting as results pop up on the screen. I don’t search for Tooru, but for someone I feel can give me at least a few answers to the questions that add to my mental baggage every time he opens his mouth. 

It’s wrong, I know, to snoop into someone’s life through third party means,  but I don’t think whatever type of relationship we’ve built between ourselves is one involving honesty. At least on his side. I’ve been more honest than I probably should have, though I don’t regret being the vulnerable one for once. 

I’m not sure why it eats at me so much, little things that he’s said that pull me in and make me want to know more, like a bad horror novel with the same cliche cliffhangers at the end of every chapter. I don’t know why I don’t just ask him the things I’m curious about, or why it even matters so much that I learn these hidden truths. No one ever said this was a lasting thing, so why am I so hellbent on making it feel that way? 

My mind races as fast as my heart as I sift through matches, trying to trigger a memory, a name muttered in passing. It does come, and I almost pass it before quickly darting back up as the highlighted text shouts something vaguely familiar. 

Oikawa Kaori

Her name pops up from a police report filed for an attempted mugging a few years back, very straightforward. The guy had tried to run by and snatch her purse and she dragged him to the station. Sounds like a tough lady.

There’s no picture with the report, we don’t usually file victims into the system, but a name is a good jumping off point. 

Another search and I have a Facebook profile open, feeling increasingly slimy with every click, though I’m already in too deep to stop. Not an Oikawa Kaori anymore, though, instead a Nakamura Kaori, but one look at those perfect brown curls and porcelain skin and there’s no doubt that this is the same Kaori from Tooru’s cardboard spaceship story. They have eyes the exact same shade of chestnut, and identical high cheekbones and straight noses, but Kaori is missing those deeply layered masks that are so apparent on her brother’s face. She seems comparably transparent, as if she wears every emotion on her sleeve and has no qualms about it. She has nothing to hide and no desire to do so if she did. 

I click on her picture, expanding to show her crouching next to a small boy in an elementary school uniform, his tie loose below his frowning face. Flipping through her albums it’s clear the boy is her son, and I start to wonder why Tooru never mentioned a nephew. In fact, I start to wonder why there’s no sign of Tooru in a single one of her photos. 

I find an album of her wedding, photo after photo of smiling faces and bouncing brown curls juxtaposed with gleaming white fabric. I search and search, studying the blurs of faces in group shots, but none of them but Kaori look even remotely like Tooru. Not a single other person who could distantly appear to be an Oikawa, and none with the name appearing in the list of tags. It doesn’t sit well, and I start to regret coming here in the first place. I’ve gained nothing but guilt and more questions. 

I sit back a groan, the muscles of my back stiff and protesting the movement. I had no idea I’d been sitting here so long. My eyes burn and my stomach growls, starving from lack of food and progress. What did I plan to accomplish?

Tooru obviously doesn’t talk to his sister, and hasn’t for a long while, so what exactly can I stand to gain by seeking her out? Before shutting off the laptop I scribble down the phone number she has listed on a post-it and shove it in my pocket, figuring it can't hurt to have it. 

Maybe this was an attempt to gain equal footing, to level the playing field of shared information. Tooru knows so much about my life; he knows my daughter and about my ex wife, he knows about my mother and my career, he knows the names of my closest friends, and I barely know the name of his estranged sister, having had to seek her out myself. 

Every time I take a step closer to knowing him he is already ten steps ahead in my life, uncovering the foundation and taking notes. It's something I just can’t get used to. 

It all stems from that inability to let go, I think, my inherent need to gather facts and see things through to the end. Maybe I need to stop thinking of Tooru like a criminal, stop viewing whatever relationship we have from the scope of a detective’s eyes. He’s not someone to observe and carefully profile, he’s just a friend. A friend who I happen to be sleeping with and know absolutely nothing about. 

I groan again and drop my head onto the desk, willing the cold surface to soothe my tired aching brain. I can feel exhaustion start to seep into my bones, eyelids fusing together and begging me not to reopen them, but I know Suga and Akaashi would simultaneously kick my ass if they came in this morning to find me asleep at my desk. 

I stumble a little as I stand, not realizing just how tired I really am, and grab my keys before heading to the elevator. The ride home is quick, most of it not even registering in my brain besides procedurally turning the right directions and stopping in the proper places. I’m already half asleep by the time my head hits the pillow, not bothering to take off my shirt or slacks, but sleep is anything but restful. 

When I close my eyes I see Tooru, perched lightly on the bottom of the staircase in his entryway, looking up curiously as if I had just walked in the door unannounced. The rest of the house is dark, and I can smell the distinct scent of vodka on my own breath.

Tooru’s skin is flushed, breathing slightly labored as his bare shoulders rise and fall, and I know exactly where we are, exactly  _ when _ we are. That first night I kissed him, when I thought for a second I saw a flicker of truth behind his words and my desperate tired heart latched on. That night that I convinced myself for just a few fleeting minutes that he would let me truly know him, that night when he shut me out with literal closed off spaces and built up a wall I never went back to try and break down. 

We’d been together since then, obviously, gone  _ farther _ since then, but I still have no explanation for what went on with him that first night. 

His true face is hidden even in my dream world, my brain unable to generate something I’ve never seen, but he smiles nonetheless, and I mirror the action.

“You came back,” he says, reaching a hand out to me.

“I guess I did.”

It’s as if I’m watching through my own eyes but I’m not in control, my words coming out involuntarily and my hand moving on its own to take his.

“Do you know why I asked you to?” He asks, and I can feel the difference in this Tooru from the real one, the lack of words unsaid on his tongue and sincerity in his voice, but I try to take comfort in it anyway. 

I shake my head and he smiles, pink lips stretching and forming curved lines on ivory cheeks. He’s beautiful even in my imagination.

“I want to show you. I think it’s time,” he continues, suddenly serious as his grip tightens on my fingers. 

“Show me what?”

He doesn’t answer, just turns to shoot a glance up the stairs, flinching as a heavy thumping sound fills the air, like thick soled boots hitting wood floor. My heart picks up it’s pace and I am suddenly anxious. 

“Shall we?” He asks, turning back around with a strained smile. My throat tightens and palms sweat, but I nod anyway as he leads me up the stairs. 

I don’t feel the wood beneath my feet,  but the thumping sound lines up perfectly with my hammering heartbeat. The climb seems to take much longer than it should, more and more stairs appearing before us, though once we reach the top I’m relieved that my head doesn't turn to look back the way we came. Instead I look forward, just over Tooru’s shoulder and into the shadow covered hallway that stretches far but has only one doorway set in the wood. 

“This is it,” he says, stopping before the door, one made of plain wood with cat scratch marks beneath the knob. So simple, yet somehow so sinister.

“Here’s what?” I ask, words sticking on my tongue and to the back of my teeth. I can hear muffled voices on the other side of the door, talking over each other and jumbling together as if they’re colliding instead of mingling. Quick hushed whispers. Frantic and cold.

“What I didn’t want you to see,” Tooru answers plainly, not turning to meet my eyes. He looks solemn and nervous, the muscles of his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth. His hand closes around the doorknob and my chest feels icy, breath hitching as I realize I’m holding it. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Okay,” I whisper, barely a sound.

“Once you know, you can’t leave.”

“Can’t lea-,”

His head whips around and he fixes me with such as intense stare that I feel as if he just slammed a clenched fist into my chest, knocking out my air. His brown eyes feel like fire on my skin, and all I can do is nod. 

“No matter how much you want to.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath as he twists the knob and opens the door in one quick motion, and suddenly I feel as if the ground slips from beneath me, completely disappearing and dropping me down just as the mystery finally comes into view. 

My eyes fly open, revealing a familiar stucco ceiling above me. My heart is hammering, breath ragged as I pant, and I feel like a wash of waking cold water was doused over my entire body. It takes a few seconds for my brain to catch up, realizing where I really am, and a bubble of anger comes along with it.

“Fuck!” I yell, throwing an arm over my sweaty face before the sound can reverberate back to me. Not quick enough, though, my voice whiny and weak as it fills my ears. 

Every time, every  _ fucking  _ time I get close to some sort of answer and it’s ripped out from under me. Even if whatever I could’ve seen in my dream isn’t real at least it would be  _ something _ . God, I sound so desperate, like some sort of abandoned sailor on a desert island wishing for water or death or both. It’s all like some sort of cosmic joke, and one day a man in a suit will jump from behind a telephone pole and wave a camera in my face broadcasting how stupid and gullible I am. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised. 

I sit up, glaring at how high of an angle the sunlight seems to be filtering in through the curtains. It must be mid morning already. I never sleep this late, it feels like a complete waste of time, and I can’t stand being unproductive. 

I make my way to the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot and pulling some who-knows-how-many-days-old pizza from the fridge since I know Suga would have my ass if I came in any earlier than noon today. It might have been nice, this short little silent period at home alone, if not for the constant nagging at the back of my mind. The dream left a bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t shake, one that brushing my teeth won’t get rid of. 

The coffee is barely starting to drip into the percolator by the time my phone is in my hand, the number I had searched for last night in the other. It’s ringing against my ear before I realize quite what I’m doing, but it’s too late to turn back. 

“I put them in the cupboard in the kitchen,” a woman says on the other side, her voice muffled as if she holds a hand over the receiver. “Then you aren’t looking hard enough.” What sounds like a little boy says something to her, followed by a staticky rumble as she moves her hand. “Excuse me for just a moment, please- no the cupboard by the sink!”

“No problem, ma’am,” I answer, smiling a bit. I can relate perfectly, thinking back on hectic mornings getting Hikari ready for school when I happened to be home late enough to see her off and maneuvering around Narumi in the daily hustle. I miss it, to an extent. I lean against the counter, pouring a mug of coffee and waiting for the woman to return. 

“Sorry about that,” she says, almost breathless against the speaker. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, still here,” I answer, feeling suddenly nervous as I realize I’m still not exactly sure what I’m doing calling her. “Don’t worry about it ma’am, I have a little one of my own. I know the struggle.”

“It’s never ending,” she agrees, letting out a sigh of relief. There’s something about shared experiences that make people so much more inclined to trust each other. “So how can I help you?”

“My name is Iwaizumi Hajime, I’m a detective with the Sendai City Police Department. I’m calling to speak with Oikawa Kaori,” I tell her, stopping as she sucks back in the breath she had let out with a little squeak. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” she replies, a little more reserved than before. “I just haven’t heard that name in a very long time.”

“Is this not the number to reach her by?”

“No, no, it is. You’ve reached her. I mean me, you’ve reached me,” she says, tripping nervously over her words. “It’s Nakamura Kaori now; I haven’t been called Oikawa since I was married. It’s just a little jarring.”

“My apologies,” I say, noting the way her voice seems to move around the name Oikawa like a bad taste. 

“Is everything...okay, detective?” Kaori asks, something other than apprehension in her voice that I can’t quite put my finger on. “I can’t think of anything I’ve done to warrant a phone call.”

“No, not that I’m aware of,” I chuckle nervously, the conversation tense and more awkward that I expected. “I’m not calling about you, actually, you’re just the only person I know to contact. I’m actually calling about your brother, Tooru.”

“Did something happen to him?” Hope, that’s hope in her voice hiding just behind the guise of fear. The hair on my neck stands up, sensing something very wrong.

“No, he’s fine, nothing like that,” I tell her, listening for any more clues in her speech. I hoped she would provide some sort of solace but so far I feel as I’ve only fallen deeper down the rabbit hole. 

“Oh,” she says curtly, and I hear the scrape of wood against tile as she pulls out a chair to sit. “Then, did he do something wrong?”

“I have to confess,” I start, cutting off her questions and just diving towards the point. There’s no point in prolonging this for either of us. “This isn’t a business call. Your brother isn’t in trouble, and neither is anyone else, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about him.”

“What type of questions?” Kaori feels suddenly defensive, like a wounded dog rearing to bite. 

“This is actually pretty rude and invasive of me,” I mutter, feeling sheepish yet intrigued, afraid yet eager. “I want to know more about him, but he’s so closed off that I can’t seem to ever get a straight answer from him. The only person that I could find that has any relation to him whatsoever is you.”

“You talk as if the two of you are close.”

“I’d consider us pretty close friends, yes.”

“Detective, have you actually met my brother?” Kaori asks, sounding even and almost like an entirely different person. 

“Of course-,”

“I mean actually met him. The  _ real  _ Tooru.”

My response dies in my throat. Have I met the Tooru she’s talking about? I can’t say for sure; I’ve met so many different versions of him, but never that final layer beneath all of his falsity. But considering everything I doubt she has either. 

“A real enough one for me,” I answer, knowing that she isn’t buying my bullshit and wondering why I bother to spout it. 

“If you’d seen him, if you’d met the person Tooru truly is, you wouldn’t be on the phone with me right now.” Her words are ominous, as if she means so much more by them than just what they plainly mean. I guess crypticism runs in the family. 

“I’m not sure I follow,” I tell her, lifting my coffee mug to my lips but setting it back down, my throat constricting.

“Does he have this number?”

“No,” I answer, feeling guilty again. All of this was a mistake, one I’m not sure how to back myself out of. “He doesn’t know I’m contacting you, and frankly I think both of us want to keep it that way.”

She pauses before answering, and when she speaks again I can hear fewer walls between us. “What has he told you about me?”

“Not much,” I tell her, noting the hollow sadness at the back of her throat accompanied by a refusal to let it come to the surface. “He only mentioned your name, really. That’s why I came to you. I don’t know anything about him and it’s to a point where I’m worried that it’s by design. Like he’s hiding something fundamental.”

“If he doesn’t trust you then why are you trying so hard?”

Her words hit me like a fist, but the bruises left behind are the pattern of my own knuckles since I’ve asked myself the exact same thing so many times. So I tell her the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I try so hard when he does the exact opposite, or why he means so much to me while he sees me as nothing but a plaything. I don’t know why I care or why I seem so determined to let him ruin every standard and every moral I’ve tried to hold myself to. But here we are, and here I am, and all I’m asking is that you help me make sure that the man who destroys me isn’t a complete stranger.”

The line is silent, not even a breath on the other end, and I start to worry she hung up on me. “Kaori?”

“You have a self destructive streak to you, don’t you, Detective?”

“I’ve been told so, yes.”

“That’s why he likes you, you know? He barely even has to push you towards the cliff, you’re already dangling, just how he likes it.” She seems almost distant in her speech, as if she’s watching this scene from far away of Tooru holding my hand over some precipice edge but not bothering to pull me up. 

“And you have a cynical side to you, don’t you, Kaori?” I return, hearing a small exhale of laughter from her. 

“You’re witty,” she says, with maybe just the hint of a smile. “Just like him. That’s part of the reason no one ever liked him, except Hitoka of course. His tongue was sharp enough to cut everyone he spoke to.”

“Hitoka?”

“Yachi Hitoka,” Kaori repeats, and there’s an unmistakable tone of affection and pity in her voice. “Our father and her father ran a small Catholic church together on the outskirts of Sendai. I’m five years older than Tooru, and he’s two years older that Hitoka so I was never that close to her, but they were inseparable.” 

“He’s never even mentioned her to me,” I mumble, trying not to sound hurt besides clearly being so, which is ridiculous.

“Sounds about right. He’s not the type to share his toys.”

The hurt fades to a sense of comradery. Maybe he’s playing with this Hitoka girl the same way as he is with me, dragging her around emotionally and making her feel as if she’s somewhat important to him but never truly letting her be. Maybe the two of us are more similar than we could imagine.

“I always thought something was odd about the two of them,” Kaori continues. “They were just the unlikeliest duo imaginable. Tooru saw her more like a pet, a cute little kitten that followed him home from school and he could play with until he got bored, but she looked at him as if the sun didn’t shine unless he told it to. Though, if I ever saw an ounce of honest affection in his gaze for anyone it was her, and I think that’s what scared me the most. I always wanted to pull her aside, to tell her to run, sweet girl, run and never look back, but I knew there wouldn’t be a point to it. I guess it’s too late now.”

“Did...something happen to her?” I ask, confused by the regret in her tone.

“Not that I know of. If I had to guess she’s still nipping at his heels as always. The whole Yachi family took him in for a little while, actually, and that basically cemented it. She didn’t have the strength to leave him alone, not after everything. That was the difference between us, I guess.”

I’m completely lost, her story seeming to jump from point to point with no filler in between, but I don’t dare stop her now. Eventually she’ll say something to tie it all together, so I wait, pressing the phone a bit closer to my ear to make sure I hear it when it comes.  

“I guess I should thank them, though. If they hadn’t taken him in I would have had to.”

“Take him in?” I ask, curiosity spurring my words. 

“After Momma and Daddy left,” she says plainly, though it has a certain hollowness to it that wasn’t there before. “I was already out of the house, living in Tokyo for school. I couldn’t have supported him myself even if I’d wanted to.”

“Your parents left? Before Tooru was old enough to care for himself?” I think back to the night on the couch, with Hikari sleeping on our laps and the quiet exchange of childhood stories in the dim light. That’s the closest I’ve ever felt to him, and yet there’s still so much he hadn’t told me.

“He was just a few months shy of eighteen, so it’s not like he needed a lot of care,” Kaori says, quick to defend her parents. I’m not as convinced. “And at least he got a goodbye. The police took the note before I could see it. Said it was evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Suicide.” 

I bite my tongue, my police instinct fighting with my basic human decency. This isn’t something I should be finding out this way, but I can’t help reaching out with figurative open palms waiting for the information to drop in. It’s a sick sense of  macabre interest mixed with sympathy. 

“The, uh, the police told me the gist of it though,” Kaori says, voice thick as if she just swallowed back tears. Or maybe it's the ghosts swimming in her throat. I know the feeling. “They wrote something about ‘not being able to handle it anymore’ and that they were ‘leaving things in God’s hands’. There was some stuff about loving Tooru and I, but that doesn’t quite stand out as much. I can’t remember the wording they used.”

“Why’d they leave? What couldn’t they handle?” I think Kaori expects me to apologize, to give condolences that she’s probably heard from countless strangers for years, but she perks up when I offer more questions instead. Maybe we’re both just darkly curious people. 

“That’s the big mystery of life, isn’t it?” She says in mock amusement. “The cops never figured it out and Tooru sure as hell wasn’t offering any answers. He wouldn’t even admit they were gone let alone try and figure out  _ why _ . The cops told us the church was struggling, as if it was something we didn't know, as if the church wasn’t  _ always _ struggling. They just needed some motive to put on paper so they could move on.”

“Are they truly _ gone _ , though? Or did they just leave and no one’s found them yet?” I wince at the rudeness of my own inquiry, but Kaori doesn’t seem to mind. 

“No one knows for sure,” she whispers, voice distant but steady. “Some fisherman caught a tuna that had a half eaten finger wearing Momma’s wedding ring in it’s stomach, though, so if I had to guess I’d say they’re pretty damn  _ gone _ . Probably filled their pockets with rocks a took a swim. You know, the good ol’ Virginia Woolf route.”

“That must have been hard on you. You were both so young,” I say, trying to show a little decency. “It would put a strain on any relationship.”

“Huh? Oh, no, not at all. After Momma and Daddy died was the closest Tooru and I have ever been,” she tells me, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from interrupting with more questions. “We spoke on the phone almost every day, trying to deal with everything as best we could, especially since I only had a month or so left before graduation. He even helped me study for my finals.”

“So, what is it that made you stop speaking to him?”

“A difference of opinions. That’s probably the nicest way to put it. He’s never been good at accepting what he doesn’t like.”

I smile, knowing the statement to be true. I’ve never met someone as stubborn as Tooru, except myself maybe, but the humor of the statement is lost on Kaori.

“The house and everything else was left to me, and once I finished school I went back home. Tooru had been spending most of his time there, only sleeping at the Yachis’ house to keep up appearances. I remember walking in and barely recognizing it. There was trash littering the floor and half cooked meals left rotting in the sink and on the stove. The utilities were turned off, and the electricity bill hadn’t been paid since I wasn’t there.” Kaori pauses, and I try to imagine the scene she’s explaining, unable to place a speck of dirt on any pristine corner of that house. “It took days to get the smell out, and to make it seem somewhat like our home again. Tooru just kept muttering to himself the whole time, something about Momma not approving.”

“It must have been hard for him, being all alone in that big empty house like that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she deadpans, dripping with sarcasm. “Except he wouldn’t admit he was alone. He spoke as if they were still alive. Every day it was ‘Momma’s gonna be upset if you throw out the green chair’, ‘you know Daddy hates it when you smoke’, ‘I hope they’re enjoying their vacation, Momma always did love the beach’. It was like reopening a wound every single time, and I think after a while he just liked to watch my heart shatter on my face.”

“He must have had a hard time processing it. That’s a lot of grief for someone so young.”

“Oh don’t give me that psychoanalysis bullshit, Detective, I’ve heard it all. Everyone tries to excuse him as some sort of broken soul, while I was the 23 year old kid fresh out of school with no job, no parents, a mortgage she couldn’t afford, and a little brother who  _ couldn’t deal with it all _ . I tried to help him, I really did, but there comes a point when you just can’t anymore.”

Her words spill forth, like the dam she built finally burst and everything was rushing to make it out of her mouth. She keeps speaking, and I feel less and less inclined to. 

“I came home one evening, after finally landing some cheap waitressing job in town, to a fully cooked dinner waiting on the kitchen table. It was Momma’s recipe for coq au vin and gratin dauphinois, it smelled  _ delicious _ , and there was Tooru, basically radiating excitement as he dished out four plates. He looked at me as if he was looking at a fond memory, instead of the exhausted shell of a girl I was, and said ‘Momma and Daddy are finally home from their trip, they’re going to be so glad to see you’. That was the last straw. I couldn’t take it anymore, ‘they’re dead’, I told him ‘they’re never coming back, Tooru’. His smile didn’t falter, but he paused, a spoon of gratin frozen in mid air, and he told me to quit being silly, ‘it’ll upset them’. 

I broke down, right there in the kitchen, and I took everything with me. I grabbed whatever was closest, the plate of food he had made for me, and I threw it as hard as I could against the wall. I did the same with everything on the table, screaming the entire time that they were gone and why couldn't he just accept it? I had to deal with it, I had to carry everything on  _ my _ shoulders, so why couldn’t he? 

The anger faded though, as anger always does, and then I was standing there in a mess of glass and wasted food, sobbing and watching the completely unaffected face of my poor broken little brother. I felt stupid; I felt bad for ruining the meal he made and for lashing out at him like that, so I tried to reach out to hug him but he stepped back, and I swear to God I’ll never forget the look on his face. Like a whole different person stepped out and became him, someone I didn’t recognize. 

He grabbed me, picked me up like a doll by the front of my shirt and slammed me into the wall so hard I saw stars. Tooru looked me dead in the eye, face inches from mine, and whispered through gritted teeth ‘get out. We don’t need you anymore’. So I did.”

“Kaori, I-,”

“I left that night, took a train to Tokyo and stayed with some friends until I found a job. I called a lawyer and had the property and everything else our parents left to me given to him, and I haven’t spoken to him since.” She stops, breathing heavy as if she just ran a marathon. “Is that the story you were looking for.”

“I...I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my back aching against the countertop as I realize I’ve been standing completely still for who knows how long, immersed in the conversation. 

“There’s nothing  _ to _ say. Sometime’s you just have to grit your teeth and move on. That’s what I did and I’m happier now than I ever was with my family.”

I pause, one last question sitting on the tip of my tongue and beating at my teeth for release. One last inquiry into the mystery I’ve unknowingly plunged myself headfirst into. “Kaori, do you love your brother?”

“With all my heart,” she answers, with such warmth that you’d think we were two completely different people with completely different lives than the ones we’ve been dealt. “And if you do too, and you’re not exactly good at hiding it, you’ll stay far, far away from him. That’s the best way to love Tooru; from far, far away.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep my voice even and not betray the fact that her tone is breaking my heart. I guess it’s too late to wish I never knew this tragic story of broken siblings and missing pieces. “I’m sorry for keeping you so long.”

“It’s actually nice to confront things every once in awhile. It’s like emotional spring cleaning, so I guess I should be thanking you,” Kaori says, her voice betraying her true feelings. Reliving this definitely took a toll on her, and I will have to live with that guilt. “It was nice to meet you, Detective, but no offense, I’d rather you never contact me again.”

“Of course,” I mutter, nodding even though she can’t see me. “I hope you stay happy.”

“I hope we both do.”

The line goes silent, leaving behind an empty hollowness that reverberates against the kitchen walls and slams back into me with full force. I try to imagine it, that dead eyed glare Kaori described, that new mask with a seething gaze and an unfamiliar touch, and I realize that I can picture it perfectly. I’ve never seen Oikawa look that way, but I can see it nonetheless, can feel the cold rage tinting his skin as it closes around my own throat. 

What mask is that? How deep a layer; how close to his actual self? How true is the empty boy with the embers behind his shadowed irises to the man I claim know?

His past is like a dark expanse before me, space devoid of stars, as I slowly fill it with feeble sparks of knowledge disguising itself as light. There are a few flickers now, many more than when I first met him, yet I still don’t know which ones are true. The dark is still insurmountable, so thick that I can’t see my hand in front as I stretch it out desperately reaching for more, greedily grabbing for anything I can find and feigning surprise when it burns. 

Yet I continue on, plunging my entire self further into the void of cold emptiness and stories that don’t want to be told, knowing that all the while the jaws around me are just waiting to finally snap shut. 

 

***

 

“Daddy, you’re out of milk,” Hikari tells me, pushing the file in my hand away from my face and holding up an empty jug. “Why did you put it back in the fridge if it’s empty?”

“Force of habit,” I shrug, trying to figure out how to process the fact that the way she holds one hand indignantly on her hip and her tone of voice are identical to Narumi. She used to get annoyed at me over the same exact thing, and she’d shoot me with the same exasperated look, except I’m used to it coming from brown eyes instead of green.

“Well I can’t eat my chocolate lucky charms  _ dry _ ,” she huffs, setting the jug on the counter and pointing to her bowl of cereal on the table.

I peer over, frowning at the bowl that seems to be filled with more marshmallows than cereal. “Who let’s you eat all that sugar for breakfast?”

“You only have this, captain crunch, or booberry. Who let’s  _ you _ eat so much sugar?” she asks, folding her tiny arms and tapping her foot. Well, she’s got me there.

“Hmm, and where’d you get your attitude from?” I smirk, pushing the papers in front of me away and standing up.

“Mom says it comes from you.”

“I’m sure she does.” I sigh, finishing off the last of my cold coffee and standing up. “Guess we’d better get going then.”

“Going where?” Hikari asks, arms slackening from their folded position as her expression changes to one of curious excitement. 

“To the grocery store,” I tell her, lifting her bowl from the table and pouring the marshmallows in the trash as she gasps. “We’re gonna get some milk and all kinds of other healthy things like brussel sprouts and lima beans. We’ll have a kale and bell pepper salad for dinner.”

“Ew, Daddy, that’s  _ gross _ ,” she pouts. “If you eat all of those green foods you’ll turn green like a monster.”

“Haven’t you seen the Hulk?” She nods. “That’s me after I eat vegetables. That’s why I only buy marshmallow cereal and coffee.”

Hikari shakes her head, trying to pretend not to believe me, but the crease between her eyebrows tells me she can’t be too sure I’m lying. “Don’t be silly. The Hulk isn’t real.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I shrug. “Go change out of your pajamas and we’ll get going.”

“But what about breakfast?”

“We’ll get something on the way. I think that place down the street has veggie smoothies,” I wink at her and she groans.

“Daddy! Stop joking, I’m  _ hungry _ !”

“I’ll buy you an extra large veggie smoothie then.”

Hikari shoots me a glare that could freeze over hell itself before stomping off down the hallway toward her room, and I can’t help but laugh. 

Within an hour I’m pushing a shopping cart through the automatic doors of the grocery store with Hikari sat happily in the front seat, our stomachs filled with warm scrambled eggs and french toast from a diner down the street. I can’t remember the last time I had a hot breakfast at  a normal hour; maybe Hikari is onto something. We make our way through the aisles, filling the cart with more junk food than healthy food. Turns out neither of us really want to eat kale for dinner. 

“Daddy, look!” Hikari gasps as I grab a gallon of milk from the dairy shelf, making me jump and almost drop it.

“What?” I ask, spinning around. 

“Over there! On the shelf!” I look in the direction of her pointing finger, finding a wall of boxed juice and applesauce. “That box has Love Princess from TV on it!”

I push the cart towards the the other side of the wide aisle, stopping next to a small blonde woman reading the back of a pack of juice boxes and frowning.

“This one! This one right here!” Hikari says excitedly, leaning over the side of the cart to reach the applesauce and almost toppling out. She holds it up triumphantly to show me, eyes almost sparkling as brightly as the little anime girl on the front of the package. 

“Why is it pink?” I ask, eyeing the package suspiciously.

“Because Love Princess loves pink, Daddy,  _ duh _ .”

“Well, of course. How could I forget,” I mumble, handing it back to her eager hands. “They added strawberries for the color.”

“That sounds delicious,” Hikari says, eyes going wide again as she holds the package up to look at the thick pink paste through the fluorescent store lights. 

“Do you promise you’ll eat it? Because last I checked you don’t even like applesauce.”

“Every single bite, I  _ promise _ . Can we get it?”

“Sure. But if you don’t eat it then next time you come over it’s going to be nothing but broccoli in the fridge.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and tucks the package carefully next to her under the loose lap belt of the cart. “There you go, Love Princess,” she whispers, “you’ll be safe here with me.”

“If you like Love Princess then you’ll definitely want to check out the soup aisle. There’s chicken noodle with noodles shaped like her wand. And I think I saw some box macaroni with pasta shaped like her pet cat.” A voice comes from behind us, sweet and timid, and I turn to find the small blonde woman smiling shyly at Hikari despite looking terrified of me.

“Really? They have Friendship Kitty macaroni? Daddy, we have to get some!” Hikari practically vibrates in her seat and the woman seems to calm down a little as she giggles behind her hand. 

“Yes, but you should probably hurry, there were only a few boxes left when I was over there.”

“Come on, let’s go!” Hikari shouts, swinging her legs back and forth to try and set the cart in motion. She stops for a moment to wave at the woman. “Thank you, pretty lady!”

“Alright, alright, hold on, princess,” I say, not looking away from the woman. There’s something familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on. Not her face, per se, but something about the way she holds herself, like she’s carrying an invisible burden she refuses to put down. “Th-thank you. For the heads up on the soup and stuff, I mean.”

“Oh, no problem,” she replies, eyes darting nervously away from mine. “I grabbed a few boxes for myself so I understand her excitement. They’re just too cute to pass up.”

I nod in reply, just starting to turn and walk away when a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

“Hitokaaaa, they don’t have the green ketchup with the aliens on it anymore so I grabbed the dumb regular red ketchup.”

There’s a metallic rattle as Oikawa tosses the ketchup in the woman’s cart and huffs, paying no attention to Hikari or me. My blood runs cold, Kaori’s story and my dream both fresh in my mind, and I stop in my tracks. I haven’t really taken time to process everything I learned, or figure out what I would do the next time I saw him, and now here he is dropped in my lap and I have no idea how to react.

What I did was a severe infringement on his privacy, but I can’t help but feel it was necessary; maybe even beneficial in some twisted sort of way. I stuck my nose where it doesn't belong and got bit, but maybe it was worth it.

“Icky Tooru?” Hikari peeks around my shoulder, wrinkling her nose at the sight of him.

“Hikari?” He answers, eyebrows knitting together as his gaze lands on her face, and a smile slowly spreads on his cheeks as it travels up to mine. “Hajime.” I want to say it’s an innocent smile, a normal ‘I’m so happy to see you’ smile, but it feels saccharine and almost sleazy. 

“Haji- oh,” the woman squeaks, blanching a pale sickly white. He called her Hitoka, which must mean she’s the girl Kaori mentioned in her story. For some reason I feel like I’m looking at someone I was never meant to see, but I feel an automatic fondness for her. A protective type of fondness.

“Breathe, Hajime,” Oikawa tells me, lip curling slightly over that smile. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

I do as he says, breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding filling my lungs. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here,” I manage to choke out, voice strained and unnatural.

“Well, we do live in the same town. And I  _ do _ need human sustenance in the form of edible items from time to time, so I see why it would be surprising.”

“You don’t make any sense, Icky Tooru. Big words don’t matter if no one can understand you,” Hikari tells him, and I’d laugh if I wasn’t still mentally reeling. 

“As eloquent as ever I see, dear princess,” Oikawa grins, pretending to bow in her direction. “Hitoka, this is Detective Iwaizumi Hajime and his daughter Hikari. Guys, this is my friend Yachi Hitoka.”

Yes, she’s definitely the same girl. I think I recognize it now, the familiarity I saw in her. She reminds me of Suga, in the way that they both look as if they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, accepting it all as everyone around them adds to the pile. I wonder how much of it was put there by Oikawa. 

Yachi holds a shaking hand out to me, trying her best to smile. “I-I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Same here,” I say, biting my tongue as soon as the words leave. “Uh, meeting you, I mean. It’s nice to meet you. I haven’t really heard anything about you because Tooru doesn’t talk much about, well, about anything, really.” I try to avoid looking at Oikawa, not wanting to see what suspicious expression he’s throwing my way. 

Yachi does it for me, narrowing her eyes at him from the side. “Yep, that’s our Tooru. Wants to know everything and never tell anything in return.”

I relax a little, taking a deep calming breath as Oikawa mocks an offended gasp in Yachi’s direction.

“ _ Our Tooru _ ,” he says, mimicking the words. “What are you guys, my parents?”

Yachi stiffens slightly but hides it with a facetious smile in his direction. “Well, if you remembered to go grocery shopping for yourself maybe I wouldn’t have to be.”

“You’re too pretty to be Icky Tooru’s mommy, Miss Yachi,” Hikari pipes up, swinging her legs against the basket and sticking her tongue out at Oikawa. “Can we go get the macaroni now?”

“Just a second, kiddo.”

“But Miss Yachi said they’re running out!” she insists, grabbing my arm and looking up at me with pleading eyes.

“I can take her to grab some really quick,” Yachi offers softly, as if she speaks too loud her words might say something else, something secret. “I’ll bring her right back.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. That’d be great, thanks,” I tell her, lifting Hikari easily from her seat and setting her on the ground. 

“Miss Yachi, you’re the best!” she yells, jumping up and down before taking Yachi’s hand and walking with her down the aisle. 

“Do you know what aisle the soup is on? It’s on aisle nine. Do you want to count with me?”

Hikari nods excitedly, pointing and skipping alongside Yachi until they turn the corner. 

“Hitoka is so great with kids. I always told her she should be an elementary school teacher or something, but she’s too timid to have any real authority,” Oikawa says, staring at the spot where the pair disappeared before turning to me.

“She’s cute,” I say, searching his face for any hint to what he’s thinking. “Are you guys..?”

“What? Oh, ew, God no,” he replies, wrinkling his nose and pulling his eyebrows together in disgust. “She’s like my little sister. Always has been.”

“So you’ve known her for a while then?”

“Almost twenty years, yeah.”

“Wow,” I say, whistling. “I could barely make my own mother put up with me for twenty years.”

“Well, I  _ am  _ naturally likeable,” he smirks, smoothly scooting closer. Imperceptible if I wasn’t watching so closely. “And we were the weird kids in school, what with the church advert t-shirts and everything.”

“Her dad was the one who opened the church with yours?” I ask, knowing the answer already but not from him.

“Yeah. Crazy old kooks, the both of them. Made for a great bonding experience though,” he inches forward again, and I can smell powder scent deodorant and disinfectant. “So what’s your excuse?”

I blink up at him, dazed by how close he got so quickly even while I watched, like a lion stalking prey. “Excuse for what?”

“For putting up with me.”

My back hits a wall of juice boxes, not realizing I had been backing away. Oikawa doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does he doesn’t care, placing his forearm next to my head against the shelves and leaning closer, warm breath ghosting my collarbones. 

“Is it my dashing good looks?” he continues, batting his eyelashes. “Or my irresistible charms,” he ducks his head, lips touching my neck so softly they’re almost not there. “Or that thing I do with my tongue-,”

“Alright, enough!” My hands fly up to his chest, pushing him back a bit rougher than I meant to. My breathing is heavy, my shoulders heaving and eyes wide as he looks back at me with a mixture of stunned surprise and arousal. “Enough,” I repeat, softer, as I lower my hands. I scan the aisle around us, thankful to find it empty.

“What’s up with you today?” Oikawa asks, licking his bottom lip as if I punched him and he can taste blood spilling from the split. 

“Hikari will be back any second,” I pause, eyes darting anywhere but his face that I know still haunts his sister’s dreams. He was easier to handle as a dream, but here he is in my waking hours and I have no way to block it out. “She already has so much to deal with with the divorce, I don’t want to make it harder on her. Not yet.”

His ears seem to perk up at the word ‘yet’, and I regret saying it immediately. Did he ever see us as anything more than friends with benefits? A quick fuck in the parking lot and a distraction for everything else? Did I? I’m not sure I can answer that any more. 

“Ok, fine. No show for the little princess then,” he shrugs, mouth snaking back into that saccharine smile as he leans his head back towards my ear. “Can I see you later?”

A finger slips beneath the band of my jeans, swiping smoothly from one side to the other, leaving a trail of cold fire so different from the warm fingered touch I’m used to. He slips his hand down farther and I flinch, feeling his movements stop dead as he slowly pulls it back out.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, finally stepping back. There’s something in his eyes that makes me want to say yes. The way he squints, the way the color turns from brown to the cold rust of dark metal instruments forgotten, a face I’ve seen only in my mind when Kaori described it. I can hear her words again, ‘we don’t need you anymore’, except now it echoes in his voice instead of hers. 

“No,” I answer, shaking my head to clear it. “Of course not. I just don’t think the grocery store is the best place for this.”

There’s a look on his face that I can’t quite pinpoint; something I’m not sure I’ve ever seen there before. It’s foreign to his sharp angled features and biting gaze, making them go softer, rounding out edges and clouding eyes that seem to see everything in too sharp a focus. It hits me, that expression that hangs on his cheeks like a new fashion trend that hasn’t quite gained traction, unexpected and careful; disappointment. He looks disappointed, and I am speechless.

“Fine. Yeah, ok,” he mumbles, turning away and running one hand quickly through his hair.

“Tooru,” I say, words coming out without me really planning for them to. I feel terrible, for some reason. Like I’ve wronged him somehow, which in some ways is true.

“It’s fine,” he repeats, bowing his head quickly before turning back to face me, all semblance of emotion gone and replaced by an easy smile. His default, effortlessly charming.

I open my mouth just to shut it back, swallowing down my lack of words. He steps close again, reaching for my hand, and I let him, feeling his cold slender fingers around my own. 

“Later, okay?” he says, lifting the back of my hand quickly to his lips and lowering it back between us. “We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah,” is all I manage to choke out, taking a deep breath to force air back into my lungs that I’ve neglected so much in the past couple minutes. 

“Boss?”

My head spins around so quickly it almost throws me off balance, ripping my hand out of Oikawa’s as I realize he’s still holding it. “Kuroo?”

If he saw, he doesn’t comment about it, smiling wide as he strides forward with his signature smile halfway between a goofy grin and a smirk. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not in your work clothes,” he says, chuckling at my ratty t-shirt and barely acknowledging Oikawa at all besides a polite nod. “Looks good, though.”

“What’re you doing here?” I ask, trying to figure out the probability of so many encounters happening in the same place in such a large city. It’s like the universe is purposefully fucking with me.

“Well, Bo and Noya had the morning shift today and now the station is out of coffee so Suga sent me on a run.”

“Police officers and no caffeine sounds like a dangerous combination,” Oikawa interjects, leaning into the conversation with an easy smile and a friendly cock of his head. “If Hajime is any indicator, that is.”

“Nah, It’s not quite that bad,” Kuroo laughs, turning to Oikawa with bright unsuspecting eyes. “Uncaffeinated Hajime is on a whole other level. The rest of them fall in a ‘well rested and fully caffeinated Hajime’ grumpiness range.” He throws air quotes around his words and they both laugh, which I don’t know whether to smile or shudder at. 

“I’m Kuroo, by the way,” he says, extending his hand. “Hajime’s partner.”

“Oikawa,” he returns, grasping Kuroo’s hand firmly. “Hajime’s other partner.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen, and my heart stops.

“In crime,” I manage to sputter out, stepping forward and forcing out a nervous chuckle. “Respectable detective by day and heinous criminal by night, didn’t you know? I’ve managed to keep it secret this long.”

Kuroo snorts, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at me. “Yeah right, and I’m a drug trafficker. So what sort of crime do you dabble in, huh? Not returning overdue library books?”

I open my mouth to reply, my nerves starting to subside, but Oikawa beats me to it. 

“Murder, actually.” He says it so easy, words fluid as they leave his lips and touch the air, spreading and touching my skin like ice cold pinpricks. “You know all those Puzzle Piece, or whatever they’re called, murders? Those were me. Hajime has been feeding me police information so I wouldn’t be caught. But I guess you have us now, don’t you?”

There’s silence between us for what feels like an eternity, like the air was sucked away suddenly and we sit frozen in time, unable to breathe as Kuroo and I stare open mouthed at calm and composed, maybe even  _ smug _ , Oikawa. I want to ask why he would say something like that, as if everything I’ve been agonizing over is some sort of game. What part of this case is a joke to him?

My jaw clicks as I realize I’m gritting my teeth painfully, and I start to ask what the fuck is his problem when Kuroo bursts into laughter and I stop. Oikawa looks at me, eyes darting down to my clenched fist and back up as I let let my fingers relax by my side, and he winks, sending something white hot through my chest that I can’t identify.

“Jokes on you,” Kuroo chokes out, wiping his eyes and trying to stop laughing. “I was wearing a wire the whole time, we’ve been onto you for weeks. I’m gonna have to take you in.”

“Clap us in irons.” Oikawa turns away from me, painting on a mock sad face and extending both arms to Kuroo.

“Ah, this guy’s a hoot, Hajime. Why don’t you bring him around more often?”

“Because he never takes anything seriously,” I reply, surprised by how even my voice sounds.

“You could learn a thing or two from him then,” Kuroo teases, reaching out to nudge my shoulder with his fist. “Anyway, I’d better-,”

“Uncle Tetsu!”

All three of us turn as Hikari runs toward us from the end of the aisle, arms filled with boxes of macaroni and soup cans. She tries her best to hug them all securely to her chest but every few steps something slips out from the bottom, Yachi following behind with a fond smile as she picks everything up.

“Hey, kiddo! Whatcha got there?”

“Love Princess macaroni! Someone hid a bunch of it on aisle four but we found it so now I have a lot of boxes! Some are for Miss Yachi though. Here, Daddy.”

Hikari unloads the boxes into my arms and I dump them in the cart, barely paying attention to the motion.

“Miss Yachi?” Kuroo asks, looking up as Yachi reaches our group, cheeks going slightly pink. 

“Yeah! She’s Icky Tooru’s friend,” Hikari explains, pointing at both of them as she speaks and sticking her tongue out at Oikawa for good measure.

“Oh, hello,” Yachi says, eyes widening as she finds the group one member larger than before. “Are you another one of Tooru’s friends?”

“Hajime’s actually,” Kuroo mutters, eyes trained on Yachi’s face as he extends his hand. “I’m his partner, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Wow, I’ve met two cops in less than an hour,” she smiles nervously, shaking Kuroo’s hand that seems to swallow up her tiny one. “That must be some kind of record.”

“Must be,” Kuroo replies, “unless you’re a criminal like Oikawa, here.”

Yachi’s eyes go wide as she turns to Oikawa, hair lifting and falling back against her neck from the motion.

“Inside joke,” Oikawa shrugs. “You had to be there.”

“Uncle Testu! Can I ride on your shoulders?” Hikari tugs at the side of his slacks, giving him her best pouty face.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he beams, lifting her up easily with both hands and placing her on his shoulders, one little pink shoe on either side of his face. She dissolves into giggles, effectively lightening the mood around us all in one fell swoop. 

“Tooru, we should finish up and head out, we have work in like,” Yachi pulls her phone from her pocket, checking the time, “two hours.”

“Don’t let us keep you,” Kuroo say, swaying back and forth as Hikari wraps her arms around his head to hold on. “It was great meeting you. Maybe we could all hang out sometime.”

Yeah right.

Oikawa snorts, mirroring my thoughts, but tries to pass it off as a cough.

“Sure. That sounds wonderful,” she smiles politely, turning her cart around and reaching for Oikawa’s hand. “Let’s go. I wanted to grab some more cocoa before we leave.”

Oikawa turns, but doesn’t respond, nodding quickly towards Kuroo and I before following Yachi down the aisle and around the corner.

Kuroo ends up following me around as I throw random things into the basket, mind nowhere near focusing on groceries, since both of us know Hikari isn’t going to let go of him any time soon. Not that he wants her to; she has the entire Sendai police force, including me, wrapped around her tiny finger, though none of us seem to mind.

We finish up shortly after, Kuroo grabbing a bag of ground coffee somewhere along the way, and make our way back to the parking lot. I barely notice when Kuroo speaks, eyes trained on the revolutions of the cart wheels on the baking asphalt.

“...some fruit?” I catch the end of his words, turning to look up at him.

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I tell him, shaking my head. “It’s so damn hot out here, and it’s only noon.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping Suga keeps me in the office today. I definitely don’t want to come back out into this.”

“The fruit, Uncle Tetsu! The fruit!” 

“Oh, right. I asked if you mind if I take Hikari to that fruit stand over there,” he asks, turning to point at the end of the parking lot where an old man sits beneath a large green umbrella with a pushcart filled with fruit on ice and bouquets of flowers. A familiar blonde head stands beneath it, talking to the man, while another familiar face leans on the cart, nonchalantly scooping up the ice chips and pouring them on top of the peaches. 

“We just left the store, why didn’t you just get fruit in there?” I ask, turning back to Kuroo quickly as Oikawa stops suddenly, looking up and meeting my eyes from across the parking lot, sending a jolt of cold through my stomach.

“Because it’s more fun this way,” Kuroo smiles, a sheepish sort of smile I’m not sure I’ve seen from him before.

“Please, Daddy, pleeeease,” Hikari whines, pointing towards the stand. “I want to get a watermelon!”

“Yeah, sure. But hurry up because I want to get out of this heat, and I’m sure _ Uncle Tetsu _ needs to get back to work soon.” I don’t know why I bother to add the last part since they’re practically halfway across the parking lot by the sime the word ‘sure’ is out of my mouth.

I head to the car and start loading the bags into the trunk, watching out of the corner of my eye as Kuroo sets Hikari down next to Yachi who seems to jump slightly when he speaks to her, making her almost drop the bag of cherries in her hand. Hikari runs over to Oikawa, pointing excitedly at the watermelons as he lifts one down and holds it out to her, showing her how to knock on the rind and listen for the hollow sound. She lays her ear on the outside, tapping it with her little fist. I can see Oikawa looking my way again, but I just finish loading the groceries, slamming the trunk and avoiding his gaze. When I peek back over after returning the cart he has his back to me, and I let out a relieved breath. 

I climb into the car, leaving the door open and halfway hanging out of the thick hot air as I start the engine and turn the air conditioning on full blast. It starts to cool down after a few minutes, and I shut the door, listening to the radio and trying to tune out everything else. I want to forget everything that happened in the store, the awkward exchanges and the strange looks in Oikawa’s eyes. I want to forget the things Kaori told me, and to stop wondering what the reasoning of it all can be. I want to forget how Kuroo and Oikawa made light of the investigation, or what he meant when he said ‘partner’. It’s all too much to think about, all too many questions with never enough answers, and I am so exhausted. So many pieces of my life are drawing together, with the investigation bleeding into my personal life and all of the people I know somehow becoming one group. It feels as if I sit on a pyre drenched in kerosene as torches dance circles around me, the flames drawing closer and closer. Soon something is bound to catch fire, and I will be in the middle of it all. 

There’s a knock on the passenger side window, and I expect it to be Kuroo bringing Hikari back, but instead I’m met with blonde hair and a tentative smile. I pause for a second, unsure of what’s happening, before unlocking the door and watching Yachi carefully slide into the seat next to me.   
“Uh, hi,” I say, still confused as she doesn’t quite look at me, staring purposefully forward through the windshield with both hands curled into fists on her knees. She doesn’t speak for what feels like minutes, but when I open my mouth to she beats me to it.

“Would you consider yourself Tooru’s friend?” she asks, turning to me with round brown eyes that swim with too many truths for such a young face. “Please be honest.”

It catches me so off guard that I just stare at her for a moment, probably looking like a massive idiot. “Yes,” I choke out. “Of course I do.”

“So you really care about him, then? Like more than just sex or someone to vent to?”

My stomach twists, breath catching. “What do you-,”

“He tells me everything. Well, almost everything,” she sighs, shooting down my halfhearted play at ignorance. “Sorry if that was rude to bring up.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I mumble, letting out my panicked breath and taking in a calmer one. Her honesty is refreshing, considering the company she keeps, and I admire it, so I figure it can’t hurt to offer some of my own. “You just caught me off guard. But, to answer your question, I don’t know. I’d like to, but it’s hard considering I don’t think it’s reciprocated.”

Yachi hums, nodding and facing forward again. “He’s hard to read, so I don't think I can really help you with that. I haven’t figured it out either.” She goes silent again before taking a deep breath and looking down at her lap. “I wanted to come talk to you to tell you to be careful around him.”

“Be...careful?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Tooru isn’t a normal friend, or a normal boyfriend, I guess.”

“We’re not dating,” I say plainly, and she nods.

“Okay,” she replies, and if I’m not mistaken a quick wash of relief spreads on her face. “That’s good. I don’t think you should. At least not so soon.” Usually I’d be angry at hearing something like that, my defiant side saying ‘fuck you’ and doing exactly what I was told not to, but I can’t help but completely trust this girl. “It’s just,” she pauses before continuing, “he’s fragile. He’s been through a lot and it makes him easily upset and he ends up doing things that are rash and hurt people.”

“What are you saying?”

Yachi turns to me again, and I expect to see sadness in her eyes but instead they’re hard as stone, stoic and strong. “I mean that I think you should be careful getting to know Tooru. Don’t try to get too close too quickly, or you’ll end up hurt.”

“I think I’ll be oka-,”

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. You think you know him but you don’t, but _ I _ do, and I’m trying to help you.”

“I know.”

“Then please listen to me.”

“No, I mean I  _ know _ . I know about Tooru, and I know why you’re saying all of this to 

me,” I tell her, not sure why I’m telling her this, but I feel compelled to. It’s like we’re on the same team, both being pawns in his mind games.

“Y-you do?” she asks, eyes going wide and swallowing thickly. “How much do you know?”

“Enough,” I shrug, watching as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before reopening them.

“But, how? And you haven’t done anything about it?”

“I only found out yesterday, and honestly it was so long ago I’m not sure there is anything  _ to _ do about it, or what to do if I  _ was _ going to. If anything I think he just needs to talk to someone about it.”

Yachi looks confused for a moment, looking at me as if I suddenly started speaking a different language, but the expression fades quickly into one of curiosity. “How did you find out?”

“I’m not proud of it,” I admit, “but I called his sister, Kaori. She told me everything, about their parents and their fight, and how your family took him in. I feel terrible for going behind his back like that, but I needed some kind of answers, and he never offers any.”

“You talked to Kaori,” she mumbles, eyes darting to the side as she thinks. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Good?”

“Never tell him that,” she says firmly, looking at me suddenly; pleadingly.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Okay, good,” she repeats, shoulders falling a bit as she deflates, seeming relieved. “I...have a request, if that’s okay. I know I have no grounds to ask anything of you but I think you’ll understand.”

“What is it?”

“Go easy on Tooru,” she says, brown eyes turning slightly watery as she blinks to push it down. “He’s done some bad things, and can be difficult and mean sometimes, but please, if he ever does anything to you consider everything you know about him before making your judgements.”

“Do you think he’ll do anything to me?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear her answer. 

“I think, besides me, you’re the only friend he’s ever kept this long, but I can’t decide whether that’s a good sign or not.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say with so much honesty peppering the air around us. 

“Yachi,” I say suddenly, words exiting my mouth before they’re fully formed in my head. “Can I ask something of you too?”

“Sure,” she answers quietly, nodding and smiling, small and soft.

“Take care of yourself. I know you love him, and I think I might too, but you should put yourself before him. You don’t always have to take care of him, especially if you’re one of the people he hurts.”

If it’s possible for someone’s heart to break on their face I see it right in front of me, her bottom lip wobbling and her eyes welling with tears. Though she doesn’t cry. She just nods, blinking away the tears, and leans forward to hug me. 

The gesture surprises me, but I hug her back, feeling as if I became better friends with her in the last ten minutes than I ever have been with Tooru. She sniffs against my chest before mumbling “you don’t deserve him.”

I’m not sure if I’m meant to hear it, and usually those words would mean offense, but I understand what she means. I can’t say I agree, though, feeling as if we fit better together than she could imagine. Him, the sharp-tongued man with secrets wrapped in anger, and me, the self-destructive time bomb holding firm to things that tear me apart.

I can see Kuroo and Hikari walking towards the car through the rearview window, arms weighed down by bags of fruit, Oikawa following closely behind.

Yachi and I step out of the car as they reach it, a grin spreading wide across Kuroo’s face as he nudges Hikari forward. She rolls her eyes before stepping forward and holding a bouquet of flowers out to Yachi.

“These are for you, Miss Yachi, because they’re pretty just like you.”

“Oh!” she squeaks, taking the bouquet and blushing a deep pink. “You’re such a sweetheart, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it was Uncle Tetsu’s idea,” Hikari says, and I hide a laugh behind my hand as Kuroo’s jaw drops open from the betrayal. “He begged me to bring these to you. He’s such a weirdo, why couldn’t he just do it himself?”

“Well, I-,”

“Oh, uh-,” 

Kuroo and Yachi speak at the same time, neither able to look the other in the eye. 

“Smooth,” I mutter, nudging Kuroo’s shoulder as I scoop up Hikari and carry her to the backseat, strapping her in her carseat and giving her a wink and a high five.

“Why were you in his car?”

Oikawa’s voice breaks through the awkward exchange, his face bored and accusatory.

“Oh, I was mooching off of his air conditioning,” Yachi says smoothly, the lie sounding much more fluid from her mouth than I ever would have expected. “I turned it on in our car but it was still so hot that I figured I’d wait over here while it cooled down.”

“Alright, whatever,” Oikawa mutters. “Let’s go.”

He turns down the aisle of cars, heading down the rows as Yachi follows him.

“It was nice meeting you!” Kuroo calls after them, waving. Oikawa ignores him, but Yachi turns to wave shyly as she continues walking. 

“Get out of here before I call Suga and tell him you’re harassing young girls in parking lots while on the clock,” I tell him, laughing at his offended expression. 

“Why do you have to make me sound so creepy?”

“Calling it as I see it,” I shrug. “See you at the station tomorrow. I have to get the little one ready for Narumi to pick her up later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, starting to walk towards his car a few spots down. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

As I get in the car and pull out of the store parking lot I can't help but return to the image from before, where I sit as if on a pyre, helpless to what happens around me. The kerosene is soaking into the wood beneath me, the byproducts of knowing too much and venturing too far into places I don’t belong, and the flames are not too far behind. They are inches away from touching down, one spark separating me from knowing the truth and burning myself alive.

In my mind I see my own hand reaching forward, wrapping around one of the torches, tilting to the side and contemplating letting go. What would happen if I did? How much would it hurt?

I don’t know,  _ can’t _ know, but I can’t help but feel like the answer will be given to me sooner than I think.

 

***

 

“Boss? Hey, boss, are you listening? Hajime!”

I blink as Kuroo snaps his fingers in front of my face, breaking me out of whatever trancelike state I had dissolved into, staring out the station window. “What?”

“Are you okay?” he asks, knitting his eyebrows together. “You’ve been zoned out for like...ten minutes.”

“Yeah I’m fine. I was just watching some guy try to get a semi-truck through the Mcdonald’s parking lot across the street,” I lie, swiveling toward him in my desk chair so he won’t try to look out the window. “What’s up?”

“I was asking if you’ve talked to Yachi at all, or if she said anything about what I said about meeting up sometime, or-,”

“Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

He pouts, dropping his head on his desk and groaning. He’s been like this for days, finding ways to incorporate Yachi into all of our conversations and not-so-subtly fishing for more information on her. The guy has it bad, and honestly I can’t blame him. Yachi sure is something special.

“I don’t know her very well,” I tell him for what must be the hundredth time. “I met her the same day you did.”

“But you seemed so friendly,” he whines, turning his head to look up at me with his cheek still resting on the surface. 

“I guess we just hit it off really well,” I shrug, returning to the half written report on my laptop screen. Suga has been loading me down with busy work lately, thinking I wouldn’t catch on. I have, I’m just too distracted to protest. 

“Lucky you,” Kuroo sighs.

I read over the report on my screen, realizing I’d stopped in the middle of a sentence and have no idea where I’d been going with it. The information seems to move like water in my mind, slipping through my fingers every time I try to scoop it up and concentrate. The file sits open by my side, but the words swim as I read them, seeing the letters but absorbing none of the information. I’m starting the same section over for the third time when Akaashi appears, dropping three new files on top of the open one I’m working with. 

“Hey, what the hell?”

“You should see these,” he says calmly, leaning against my desk and folding his arms.

“What are they?” I ask, picking them up and watching Kuroo perk up out of the corner of my eye.

“The latest three murders in Sendai that seem to have any sort of connection with Puzzle Box,” he tells me, pointing his chin towards them and raising his eyebrows. “I thought you’d want to see them.”

“Three? That was quick,” I mumble, eagerly opening the first and skimming the first page, suddenly hyper aware of the information being presented.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Just read.”

“You aren’t on the Puzzle Box case though,” Kuroo pipes up, leaning over his desk to grab one of the other files. “How’d you get these?”

“I noticed a pattern while reviewing some other cases and pulled these together,” Akaashi shrugs. “You guys aren’t the only one’s interested in the case, we just can’t have everyone working on it at once.”

“Thanks, boss,” he beams, frowning as I take the file back from him and replace it with the two I’ve already read.

“They’re speeding up,” I say out loud, not directing it anywhere in particular. “Working faster.”

“Are they?” Akaashi asks, giving me a pointed look when I turn to face him. “Do you think these are related?”

“Of course. They’re consistent with the others.”

“Not completely,” he says, opening one of the folders to point at the report. “This one was found in shipping yard, similar to the other dump sites, and her car was found abandoned in a café parking lot, but from what we can tell she didn’t have anything removed from her body. The other two are similar, one with a removed foot and abandoned car, the other found near a dumpster with a missing tongue. They all have only two of the three distinguishing factors.”

“What are you trying to say?” I ask, checking back over the reports as if they’ll say something different than what he just told me.

“You think they aren’t Puzzle Box?” Kuroo cocks his head to the side, the gears in his head spinning quickly and showing on his face. “What are they then, some kind of copycat?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they're unrelated and just coincidental,” Akaashi shrugs. “When was the last murder we confirmed as Puzzle Box?”

“The dismembered girl,” I answer plainly, trying to ignore the rage that builds in the base of my throat just from remembering that day.

“That was a few weeks ago, and we haven’t had any cases completely fitting the MO since then,” he continues, voice even as if he’s listing his favorite movies. “What if that one was one last hurrah since we’re on the trail? One big gesture before disappearing under the growing threat of being caught.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I scoff, tossing the folders back onto my desk and leaning back in my chair, refusing to believe Akaashi’s theory.

“Is it? What would you do if the police were on your tail?”

“Exactly what they’ve done,” I reply easily.

“I’m confused,” Kuroo mumbles, dropping his head into his hands.

“They know we’re on their trail, so they’re changing the trail.”

“Hajime-,”

“No, it totally makes sense. They  _ want _ us to think they’ve stopped. And they  _ want  _ us to think that these are the work of some copycat and not them,” I continue, watching Akaashi sigh, shoulders sagging. “This proves that they’re way smarter than we originally planned, which means everything is going to get a little bit trickier.”

“We can handle tricky,” Kuroo says, nodding from across the desks. “I’ll start comparing the reports to the previous ones in the file.”

“Great. We need to know when the victims were last seen and try to contact family and friends,” I tell him, turning back to my computer. I close the unfinished report and open the folder I have for the other Puzzle Box murders.

“I guess I can’t convince you, can I?” Akaashi sighs, standing up straight and sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Nope,” Kuroo winks.

“Not a chance,” I add.

“Make sure you get those other reports to Suga by the end of the day,” he says as he starts to walk back the way he came. “And try to go home at a decent hour.”

I don’t bother replying, and he doesn’t bother waiting for me to, knowing I’m too far gone with the smell of fresh blood in the water. 

This is exactly what I needed, the perfect distraction from thoughts of the Oikawa siblings or wondering what motivation lies behind Yachi’s words of warning. None of that makes sense, all forming some weird sort of twisted game before me that I don’t know the rules to. 

But this, this game of criminals and blood trails, makes perfect sense. This is where I belong; chasing shirttails around dark alley corners and reading messages written in dead bodies and missing pieces. 

This is a puzzle I’m capable of solving, and maybe, if I succeed, everything else will fall into place behind it.


	9. Doubt - Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you to everyone who's been patient and stuck around with me for this story. I promise I'll see it through to the end <3
> 
>  
> 
> You never told me your secrets  
> So I guess they stayed safe with me  
> Tall orders from such small shoulders  
> And invitations on blue paper  
> But I'm bailing water and bailing water  
> 'Cause I like the shape of the boat  
> You asked me and I told you  
> And you asked me and I told you and I told you  
> In hindsight you're gonna wish you were here  
> You keep scratching at the old paint  
> But the wood is still there  
> And the room is still there
> 
> \- The Long Winters

The way he looked at me.

The way he  _ kept _ looking at me. It’s burned like a hot brand on my brain, staring me in the face without even having to close my eyes to remember. 

He looked at me like I was someone new. A threat he had never come to face before; one he didn’t know how to process. Like something had crawled into my skin overnight and he was the only one who recognized the changes.

I didn’t catch on, couldn’t recognize just how serious it was, until he pushed me. And then he  _ flinched _ , like he knew how much I wanted to wrap a hand around his throat and push something shiny and sharp inside the soft meat beneath his jaw, letting the warm blood spill down and join my fingers still lingering beneath his waistband. Like he could see the event unfold just as clear as I could, like he could feel the anxious tapping of my hand against my thigh as it begged me to move, like he was  _ afraid _ . 

For the first time, Iwaizumi Hajime looked at me with fear in his eyes, something I was starting to doubt he was capable of, and I couldn’t be more disappointed. 

The fear always comes last. It hides behind uncertainty and nervous rationale until it’s too late. It waits until I pull back the curtain to allow the man with the wicked smile and bloodied hands to finally appear, and by then their time is up.

Iwaizumi’s time is up. Our game is drawing to a close and I should be  _ happy _ ; I should be jumping for joy at the thought of finally getting to see what wonders await me beneath his skin and in the darkest corners of his glistening red insides that I’ve only been able to see yet in dreams. 

But I can’t. 

I’m like a petulant child not ready to leave the park and go home. I want to play longer. I want to dance with danger and push him closer to his limits so that when the end finally comes the payoff will be that much grander. The blood that much warmer, his fear that much louder, the answers that much more profound.

I am not ready to finish my game. Not ready to say goodbye.

“I think I’ll make a cobbler with those peaches you bought. Do you have any brown sugar at home?” 

Yachi’s voice is crisp and clear as it travels the distance between us. It’s calm and level for once, while I’m sure mine is weak and whiny. When did we switch positions? Was I just too blind to see it?

“I don’t know,” I mutter, deliberately staring forward as I watch her head swivel to look at me before returning to the road out of the corner of my eye. I can’t make myself look at her, knowing what I’ll see.

Watching her step out of Iwaizumi’s car was like having the ground knocked out from below my feet. The ground spun as my two worlds collided, and I knew nothing good could come of it. I knew that something had fundamentally changed, and nothing could be the same. 

“If you don’t then I can run home. I’m pretty sure I have some.” She speaks as if we didn’t just leave the most dangerous situation we’ve been in. Maybe it was only dangerous for me. Maybe it was only dangerous because of her.

“What did you say to him?” The words are out before I have a chance to form them in my head. Her hands grip tighter on the wheel as I finally turn to look at her, but her eyes remain firmly on the road.

“To who? Kuroo? He seems sweet but I didn’t agree to see him again or anything. I mean, I barely know him,” she chuckles lightly, but it sounds more like a shaky exhale.

“You know what I mean. You two looked like you were getting along pretty fucking well.” My words bite, and she flinches slightly. Less than I expected. 

“I told you, I was just sitting in the air conditioning. It was pretty awkward, to be honest. He’s not very talkative, that one.” Her knuckles are white against the steering wheel, jaw clenching below soft plump skin. 

“Why are you so calm right now?” I ask, my words icy but not carrying near as much anger as I feel bubbling in my chest. “You were practically pissing your pants when we met him in the store.”

“I was not,” she scoffs, smiling a nervous, fake kind of smile.

“This is not a fucking  _ joke _ , Hitoka!” The car swerves slightly as she jumps, my words much louder than she expected.

“Tooru, I-,”

“Do you not understand? I have everything  _ meticulously _ planned, every piece of this game strategically placed to make sure that _ I _ win! I have poured  _ months _ of work into this, and I can’t have you  _ fucking  _ it up!” Everything around me is tinged with red, my heart pounding in my chest with angry fists. I can  _ not  _ lose now. I  _ will  _ not lose now. 

“Stop yelling at me.”

“Tell me why I should! What would you do if you found your only friend consulting with the fucking  _ enemy _ , Hitoka! Go ahead, tell me!” Spit flies from my mouth as I yell, but I don’t care. I can’t care about anything else right now. 

“He’s not your enemy,” she replies, gaze still planted firmly forward as silent tears roll down her cheeks. Good. I want her to cry. I want her to break before she can break me. 

“No, that’s you, isn’t it? What next, have you two been working together this whole time? Is this some elaborate fucked up plot to get me locked up?” I know it’s absurd, but there's some part of me that thinks it could be true, and right now that part is screaming the loudest.

“I’m not your enemy either,” Yachi continues, voice level and feeling like a puff of air beside my raging hurricane. “You’re looking for someone to blame, you’re searching for the people at fault for what you think is going wrong but you’re blaming the wrong people, Tooru. You think you’re playing a game but the only piece on the board is you. You’re the hero and the villain. It’s all you.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that all of your problems were caused by yourself. Not anyone else.”

“You’re right.  _ I _ cause my own problems, because  _ I _ make what _ I _ want happen. Things only go wrong when _ I  _ want them too, and that’s why you need to stay the fuck out of it.” The yelling stops, dulled down to a seething anger. Glowing embers rather than raging flames. 

“I’m not just some little girl you can boss around anymore, Tooru. I’m not a puppet; I don’t need your permission to talk to people, and I don’t need you talking to me like a dog,” Yachi says, bolder than I’ve ever heard her before. When did this happen? How long can I let it last? “But I am your friend, and you don’t need to worry about that changing. You’ve known me long enough to known better than that.”

“Have I? Maybe you’re just a better liar than I am.”

“What do you want from me?” Her voice erupts, physically pushing me back, and she finally turns to look at me. Her eyes are watery yet still burning with an anger I’ve never seen from her. “What do you want me to say? That I was giving Iwaizumi a detailed list of all of your victims? That he’s sending police cars to your house as we speak and I’m supposed to keep you there until you’re slapped in cuffs and I can  _ finally _ be free from your _ bullshit _ ? Because how could I, Tooru? How the fuck could I when one, you don’t tell me  _ shit _ , and two, you’re my goddamn best FRIEND!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Hitoka,” I say plainly, digging my fingernails into my kneecap, “Daddy doesn’t like it.” She ignores me, continuing to yell, a dam broken somewhere deep inside of her. 

“I have not dealt with this, with  _ you _ , for nineteen years for you to accuse me like this. Do you know how many times I could have told someone? How many times I could have ended everything and ruined you? Every goddamn day since I met you, Tooru! But I haven’t! Because I care about you, you idiot! We’re _ family _ !”

She pauses, chest heaving beneath her tear stained shirt. She wipes her face, her next words coming out calmer. “If you really think I could do something like that then just kill me, because I don’t know what else to tell you. If you can’t trust me after all this time then just get rid of me.”

Before I can reply she opens the door and steps out into the driveway I hadn’t realized we’d been sitting in for who knows how long. She grabs the bags from the trunk and lets herself into my house before I’m even out of the car, and when I make it into the house she’s already rattling around in the cabinets for god knows what. 

I sink into Daddy’s burgundy chair, my entire body numb and tingling. Kill her? I’ve never been given such an open invitation before. 

Maybe she has a point. I’ve never known her to be disloyal, no matter how much information she’s carried all these years. Maybe I’ve been toying with her, dangling the thought of bringing me to justice in front of her like fruit almost touching the lips of Tantalus. Would that make her happy? Seeing me stopped for good?

Has the only problem here been that she just can’t stand to do it herself? A knife wouldn't fit her fragile hands nearly as well as it would my back. Either she’s the biggest idiot alive or I am. I can't quite figure it out. 

But if I was to kill her, what then? I keep following my plan, I kill Iwaizumi, I destroy his humanity and discover what it’s made of, and _ then what _ ? I’ve never thought that far ahead, knowing only the path in front of me and disregarding the start and end points. Even now, what is my end goal with Iwaizumi? I want to know what makes him human. I want to know what he possesses that I don’t, what inside of him constitutes as a soul, and why whatever creator put us here failed to grant me one.

But  _ then what _ ?

Do I take it? Consume it somehow and gain whatever powers it grants? Will I even be myself anymore? Will I wake suddenly in a pool of blood and sticky memories and have to come to terms with all of the things I’ve done at once? Would I be able to handle that?

What if humanity isn’t tangible, and I’m left in exactly the same place lacking both Iwaizumi and Yachi? What if I reach my hand in, elbows deep in rich warm red, and grasp at  _ nothing _ ? What if he’s been a monster all along, just like me?

Then what?

I don’t know, and I’m not sure if I want to. Maybe the chase is the only thing I have, and the finish line is looming like a destination I never want to reach. Maybe life is a race and I ran too fast.

“Here, have a piece while it’s still warm,” Yachi says, snapping me out of my daze. The shadows in the living room are much longer as my eyes focus on the plate she hands me, my nostrils picking up on peaches and cinnamon while my mind still reels over how I could have missed the lace curtains setting ablaze with flaming sunset orange. 

I don’t answer, silently taking the plate as she settles in a seat across from me, facing in just a way that she doesn't have to look directly into my eyes for us to speak. Her gaze bounces around, from the window to the neatly stacked mail on the coffee table, her plate of peach cobbler to my hands gripping my fork with too much force. 

“This is Momma’s recipe, isn’t it?” I ask, dragging the fork tines through the thick caramel filling peppered with cinnamon.

“Yeah, her book was in the cupboard. You don’t think she’d mind, do you?”

“No,” I say, taking a bite. For a moment I’m almost convinced my mother actually baked this cobbler, but the slight over softness of the peaches tells me otherwise. “She always loved for us to learn her recipes. Kaori was pretty good at it for a while.”

Yachi stiffens, probably surprised to hear my sister’s name from my mouth without being prompted. It kind of slipped out, I’ll admit, but it’s different speaking of her in the context of a memory. That’s how she exists to me, not as a flesh and blood woman living somewhere far away from the thought of me but as a concept in the back of a memory. 

“How have you managed it?” Yachi asks suddenly, her cobbler sitting untouched on her plate, and I realize my own is already gone. 

“Managed what?”

“Getting this far? I mean, it’s been years, Tooru. How is it that it took this long for someone to even catch wind of you?” She bites her bottom lip, looking past me instead of at me. 

“I guess either I’m too smart or they’re too stupid,” I shrug, dragging a finger through the peach filling left on my plate and pressing it to my tongue. 

“But which is it?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet.”

There's silence for a few more minutes, the air so thick between us I start to resent the smell of cinnamon. I reach forward to set my plate on the coffee table, and she finally speaks. 

“Can you tell me about them?” That’s a loaded question.

“Who?” I ask, leaning back into the chair and folding my hands over my knee. 

“Your...victims,” she swallows over the word, like it refuses to pop out of her throat without a fight. “What you did to them.”

“Oh,” I smile, and she flinches. “Of course. True or false?”

“True,” she replies, but her eyes say false. I ignore them. It’s about time her mouth got her in trouble. “It’s different every time, you know? I’d get bored if it always happened the same way.”

“Do you remember them all?”

“Each and every one.” She finally makes eye contact, and I can see something swimming behind her eyes. Fear? Regret? Vengeance? It’s anybody’s call. 

I stand suddenly, an idea popping into my head. “Here. Let me show you something.” I reach out for her hand, and she reluctantly takes it, setting her uneaten cobbler beside my plate on the table.

I can feel her resisting through her touch, begging me to let her go free and never return, but her legs continue to follow. She’s at odds with herself, and it’s so satisfying to be the reason she’s tearing herself apart. We reach the stairs and her head swivels around to stare up, and I hear her suck in a quick breath, but we head down instead.

“Tooru, where are we going?”

“Shhh,” I say, my cheeks aching. I can’t remember the last time I smiled this much. “It’ll ruin the surprise.”

When we reach the heavy metal door at the foot of the stairs I let go of her hand, using both of mine to unlatch it and shove it open. The lights are off, and when I flick them on Yachi blinks against the harshness of the fluorescents. I expect her to run, to turn tail and finally disappear for good, but she doesn’t. She hovers in the doorway before stepping in, drinking in the room with frantic eyes as if she doesn’t want to forget a single detail. 

“This is...this is where it happens?” She asks, voice wavering. She pulls her arms close to her chest as she steps farther and farther into the room, careful not to touch anything. It’s okay, Hitoka darling, the metal doesn’t bite. 

“This is my kingdom,” I tell her, throwing my arms wide to gesture towards all my favorite spots. “The bed, where I strap them down, the drawers, full of my best tools, the cupboard, for cleanup, and this,” I say, stepping over to the freezer in the corner. “This is the main attraction. The pièce de résistance.”

“What...what is it?” Yachi asks, and I almost begin laughing out of excitement.

“You asked me if I remember them all, and I do, but you didn’t ask  _ how. _ ” I throw open the freezer door, and Yachi’s knees buckle beneath her, a hand shooting out to grab the counter before she hits the floor. “Every single ‘victim’, as you put it, or at least a piece of them, stays with me,” I explain, taking out each bowl carefully and setting it on the counter beside her. The eyes, the fingers, the teeth. She’s stays stable until the heart, her eyes going wide as I sit it in front of her. She bolts for the sink, emptying her stomach into the basin.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” I tell her, continuing to stack bowls on the counter. Ears, livers, tongues. Each has a name, each comes with a memory. It’s like looking through a photo album.

“Why?” Yachi’s voice  is almost undetectable behind me, and I turn to face her as she pulls a rag from the drawer to wipe her mouth, her face pale and covered in sweat. “Why do you keep them? If anybody ever makes it down here that’s an automatic death sentence.”

“Well, no one has ever made it down here and gotten out alive,” I shrug, turning back to the bowls. I expect that to send a jolt of fear through her, but she seems unphased. I’ll have to up my game.

“How do you...choose?” She asks, appearing back beside me and trying her best to peer into the bowls without getting sick again.

“Easy,” I tell her, finding a sliver of lung I was particularly fond of. “I take whatever I think makes them the most human.” I step over to the counter, sifting through the bowls. “Their outlook on life,” I lift the bowl of eyes, “their devotion to love,” the finger with the engagement ring still on it, “their  _ tenacity _ ,” the heart. “Whatever sticks out, whatever separates them from me the most. Whatever part of them isn’t a monster.”

“What would you cut out of me?”

I pause, smile faltering as she stares at me, firmly determined. What the fuck is wrong with her? This isn’t the Yachi I know, it’s some new girl with the same hummingbird heart but brand new nerves of steel. Something happened to change her; was it me? Has her time spent with me finally broken her? Turning her into an unfeeling, selfish, unwavering monster like me?

If that’s true, then my Yachi is dead, and this is some melding of the two of us. My brain, her body. Her heart, my lack of a soul; walking the world undetected just as I do. 

And if I were her, I know exactly what my plan of action would be. 

In one quick action, without even feeling her weight, I pick her up and slam her onto the table behind her, chocolate eyes blowing wide as her wind is knocked out.

“Too-,” is all she manages to choke out before I’m in her face, cutting her off.

“You want to know what I’d take?” I ask, the tips of our noses touching. “I’d cut out your brain, for your awful fucking decisionmaking.  You’ve never asked me to give you this many details before. I thought it was fun at first, I’d bring you down here and scare you a little, but there’s a reason, isn’t there? You’re not stupid, and neither am I.”

“I just wanted to know more,” Yachi answers, almost a whisper, as if her voice has suddenly gone hoarse from the strain of too many truths and lies like knives as she tries to swallow them. “I’m tired of being a coward. I’m tired of refusing to look at what’s in front of me.”

“And what’s in front of you?” I ask, voice seething through my teeth, my grip on her small shoulder tightening as I fail to elicit a fear response from her. Her face is blank besides sadness; a reserved sadness, as if she’s disappointed somehow; resigned.

“You,” she says, eyes uncharacteristically dry, “covered in much more blood than I ever could have imagined.”

“You’re going to see him again, aren’t you? You let me lead you down here and show you everything so you can run and repeat it all back to him.” I reach into the drawer beneath the table, not bothering for gloves or smocks, and pull out the first sharp thing my hand touches, a sturdy clip point knife. I press the flat of the blade against her throat, watching her muscles contract around the pressure. “Is that what you were planning out in his car? Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

“There’s nothing to figure out. I already told you, if you don’t trust me then just kill me.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, my grip slackening on the knife blade, and I almost turn away when Yachi’s eyes meet mine, out of shame or frustration I don’t know. “I have a knife to your throat and you’re telling me to kill you. Why?”

“Because to me you’re not a monster, Tooru,” she answers, tears finally welling in her eyes and slipping silently to the side, one drop landing delicately in her ear. She reaches up, cupping the side of my jaw but still making no move to escape. “Even if you hurt me, you’re still my Tooru. I’ve loved you for this long, I don’t know why you think I’d stop now. Put my brain in a bowl in your freezer, cut me apart and throw me in a river, bathe in my blood,  _ whatever _ ; I’ll always love you.”

“I take it back, you are stupid.”

Her pulse is against my finger, in time to the beat of my own heart in my ears. Beating together.

Thump, thump, thump, and she’s five again. Face chubbier, eyes still full of tears. She’s desperately tugging on my arm as I stand over another boy, blood dripping from his nose.

“Tooru stop! He didn’t mean it! Don’t hurt him!”

My chest heaves, panting as the boy cowers. I remember this, Yachi’s first day of school. I was in third grade, and she had been so excited to finally start first, especially already knowing an upper grader, but her joy was short-lived. She ran up to me at lunch time, tears streaming down her face as she told me an older boy had pushed her down and called her a name I can’t recall. The world went red, and the next thing I knew the boy’s blood was smeared cross my knuckles and Yachi was begging me to stop hitting him. She looked so afraid, but not of me.

“You’re going to get in trouble!”

The crowd of other kids scattered as a teacher approached, but Yachi stayed by my side. I wanted to ask why. Why wouldn’t she run and let me take blame for my own mess?

Thump, thump, thump, and she’s eleven, rubbing slow circles on my back as we sit curled together on the couch in her bedroom. The pink cushions are familiar beneath me, soft and always smelling of her lavender fabric softener. I remember coming here when I was upset, this time after a particularly long lecture from Daddy. He had come home early, finding me watching a video on the clunky old family computer of a man being beaten to death with a hammer, my pages of anatomy notes open to my side. He didn’t yell, just sat me down and read scripture as if it would pull whatever demon was residing in his poor, pure, son out of my skin. 

“It’s okay,” Yachi whispered, as if comforting me would make me feel better. I didn’t need comfort, I wasn’t sad, I was angry, but the gesture was more for her than for me. “He doesn’t think you’re a monster, he’s just worried about you.”

But I was a monster. I am a monster. I was just angry I’d let someone other than her see it. 

“If they love you they’ll see past that and understand you.”

She spoke as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. Like she always did. But how? How could she look me in the eye and tell me she saw a human? 

Thump, thump. Thump, and she’s fourteen, dressed in black down to her knees, a wide brimmed hat shadowing the golden glow of her hair. Her hand is in mine, our legs touching on the hard wooden pews of the church our fathers owned. They were empty now, though not long before they had been filled with family and friends who I’d never met, even some of the members of the church appearing to say their farewells. Every woman had worn a modest dress like Yachi’s, every man black slacks and overshined shoes like mine. Even my sister had been there, speaking to adults and shaking hands as I sat silently, ignoring those who came up to me. They all thought my parents were dead. A good portion of them probably thought I was the reason why. 

Yachi squeezed my hand, turning to look at me beneath the dim evening light streaming in through the high windows. She was going to ask me why I did it. I knew it; could hear the question on her tongue. This was what would finally make her lose her faith in me, and the only time I didn’t deserve it. 

“The beach is really nice this time of year,” she said, smiling despite the tears silently forming a trail from chocolate brown eyes to the tip of rose petal lips. “I bet your parents are having a really great time there.”

I didn’t know what to say; what to think. All I could hear was myself wondering when. When will I finally do something so terrible that she’ll finally give up? When will those lips stop smiling for me? When will those fingers leave my own?

Thump, thump, thump.

“Tooru?”

Yachi looks at me,  _ my _ Yachi, and the knife in my hand clatters to the floor. 

“Go,” I whisper, taking a step back. She stares up at me with wide eyes, eyes that were sure they were minutes away from death. Eyes that still expect it, maybe even want it. 

“Tooru, it’s okay,” she reaches out with those comforting fingers, threatening to rub small circles on my back as she tells me how I’m not a monster. But I am. I am. I am a monster, and I rip my arm away as her pure fingers burn against my cursed flesh. 

“GET OUT!” 

She jumps, flinches, as the sound reverberates around the room and back to her a hundredfold. And she obeys, blonde hair whipping around the corner and back up the stairs. The front door closes in the distance, and I breathe. 

I drop to my knees, the floor like a solid savior beneath me, catching me as I threaten to sink right through. My body feels empty, thin, like a bag upturned and left limp. The knife I dropped glints back at me under the fluorescent lights, a drop of red catching my eye. Did I cut her? My stomach lurches, imagining a line of blood staining the pale white of Yachi’s throat and knowing I put it there. 

I feel disgusted, but I can’t tell why. I’ve imagined it countless times before, of her laying open before me, taken apart, unrecognizable. Every time it’s calmed me, just the same as seeing anyone else broken and bloody. So why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I snap my alligator jaws shut on the bird resting there?

I reach for the knife, hand shaking, and almost tumble forward. The blood isn’t hers, it’s mine. It’s welling on the side of my finger, just a nick, sliding easily down to my palm. My stomach lurches again and suddenly I’m at the sink, my vomit joining Yachi’s down the drain. 

I reach up to wipe the cold sweat from my forehead, and laughter reaches my ears. It’s slow at first, subdued, as if the owner is covering their mouth to stifle it, then it explodes. It’s coming from beside me, from the bowls I left stacked on the counter. 

_ I told you this would happen,  _ she laughs, the heart.  _ They’ve been working against you this whole time and you were too stupid to see it. _

“No, they wouldn’t do that to me,” I whisper, grabbing the container and crumpling back to the floor. “They love me.”

_ No one has ever loved you. _

“You’re wrong. She said so. She said she loves me.”

_ Your own parents never loved you. _

“No, no…,”

_ You’re going to die unloved, just like you lived. Worthless, unwanted, weak.  _

“I won’t...I can’t. Not yet...please not yet.”

_ They’re coming for you. _

I jump, dropping the heart as the sound of knocking at the front door bounces around in my chest and grounds me. Someone is here. It’s them; it must be them. 

The blood on my finger has dried there, and I wipe it on a towel before picking the knife up from the floor and standing. I walk my green mile up the stairs, imagining Iwaizumi’s face as I open the door and a battalion of guns are shoved in my face. Maybe the heart was right; maybe this was his plan all along. Maybe I was never orchestrating our little game, and I was playing into his hands the entire time. Maybe Yachi will be there. Maybe she’ll be the one to pull the trigger. 

I open the door, knife slack in my hand, but instead of blinking red and blue lights I’m met with the face of a young man. He holds a stack of flyers in one hand, a photo of a dog looking up from the front. 

“Good evening, sir. My name is-,”

I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him inside and slamming the door shut. No pomp and circumstance, no elaborate trust building exercise, I don’t have the time. I just need to feel flesh opening beneath my fingertips one last time. His flyers hit the floor, scattering beneath our feet. 

“Hey! I-,”

“Shut up,” I say, turning toward the man and pointing the knife in his face. “Just walk.”

He starts to backup slowly, fear in his eyes, but I reach out and flip him forward, reaching around to press the knife against his throat. 

“Sir, please-,”

“I said shut the fuck up!” I squeeze a little and he yelps, blood beading beneath the blade. 

We walk forward, reaching the top of the stairs, and without hesitation I shove him down. He screams but only for a moment, and I hear a sickening crack as he hits the bottom. 

I follow, stepping carefully over him and into the doorway before grabbing him beneath the shoulders and dragging him inside. I don’t bother shutting the door, focused on just strapping him to the table and getting to work. As I pull gloves over my fingers I start to relax, their presence like a security blanket. 

The man doesn’t lie quite straight, one leg twisted near the knee and a clean white bone protruding through a hole torn in his shin. His breathing is shallow, but he’s still alive despite the heavy gash along his temple leaking blood down his face. It’s a shame, he was actually quite good looking. 

I rip his shirt down the middle, but he doesn’t open his eyes until my knife touches his chest, ice cold against his still warm skin. He screams, but I ignore it. It isn’t a reward this time, just a byproduct. I try to focus as I dig the knife inside and drag it down to his belly button, but his voice drills into my ears. I don’t even know what he’s saying, I don’t care enough to listen. He struggles against the restraints, trying to kick with his broken leg but screaming more at the pain. 

I try to imagine he’s Iwaizumi, flipping open the folds I’ve created from his core and pretending the pure untainted landscape I’ve been waiting for lies inside. But it doesn’t. His voice is too high, nowhere near the gruffness I dream about coming from Iwaizumi’s throat, his organs are too messy, just a bloody visceral mess that I’ve seen countless times before. This man isn’t special. He isn’t the prize I’ve been clawing my way towards. 

“You’re just like the rest of them,” I mumble, watching his eyes start to flutter as more and more blood escapes from him. His leg stops kicking, his fists unclench at his sides. I can still see his lungs slowly filling and emptying, but after a few more minutes they come to a halt. All that’s left is a pile of blood and bone and flesh. Nothing beautiful. Nothing human. 

Would Iwaizumi have looked the same? If I had gotten the chance to tear him apart would I have found nothing but the same inside? What would I have done then? Maybe I was never destined to see a true human. Maybe they don’t exist. 

The bowls catch my eye from the side of the room, the plastic covered with beads of condensation, and an idea comes to me. I go to the freezer, digging through the shelves and finding what I need, carrying them all back to the table with me. Without hesitation I plunge the knife back into the man’s open cavity, cutting and tearing without hesitation and pulling the pieces out. They make wet squelching sounds as they hit the floor, splashing in the blood already spilled there. After a few minutes my forehead is beaded with sweat, my breathing heavy, and he is empty despite a red stained ribcage. 

The plastic bowls bounce off of the piles of viscera as I empty them and throw them down, slowly assembling their contents inside the cavity. Pieces of liver and lung, kidneys near the back, a full stomach in the center, a tangle of intestines, and the heart resting snug beneath protective bones. All of the most human pieces I’ve collected, the bits of other monsters that kept them from becoming something like me. Something irredeemable. 

Once they’re all in place I stand back, admiring what I’ve created; something as close to human as I’ve ever seen. I wait for it all to click together, to show some sign that I finally solved the puzzle. 

_ We’re all still just as empty as you _ .

“But I did it. You belong like this,” I whisper, hopelessness starting to sink in. If this isn’t the answer then what is? What is a human? What have I been working towards?

_ Nothing. None of it means anything. Human, monsters, it’s all bullshit. You aren’t special, you’re just broken. You’re sick. _

“No. No, you’re wrong,” I tell her, the heart. “It can’t be for nothing. I’ve come so far-,”

_ What are you afraid of, Tooru?  _

“Nothing.”

_ What are you afraid of? _

“I’m not afraid. I’ve never been afraid.”

_ What are you-, _

“Tooru?” 

My heart jumps into my throat. That’s Iwaizumi’s voice. Is he here? Or is this just some trick too? I look to the heart, but she’s gone silent. It’s only me here now. 

“Tooru? Are you here?”

It’s him, the real him. He’s finally come. It’s finally over. 

I pull the gloves from my hands and step carefully over the mess I’ve made on the floor, shoving the dirty knife into my back pocket and creeping my way up the stairs. Some flyers have fallen down the steps, and one sticks to the coagulated blood on the bottom of my shoe. I peer around the corner of the staircase, but Iwaizumi isn’t there.  

“Tooru?” He calls again, this time from the living room. I see him now, moving about the darkened room with the ease of someone who’s lived here for years. He flicks on a light and jumps as he catches sight of me in the doorway. 

“Tooru! Shit, you scared me. Where have you been?” His eyes look frantic, not even bothering to properly look at me as he rushes forward and wraps a hand around my shoulder, warm and strong. “I’ve been calling you for hours.”

“My phone died,” I say, surprised by how even my voice is. 

“So you haven’t heard?” Something breaks behind his eyes, and my stomach twists. Why does he look like that? Why do I see sympathy on his face?

“Heard what?”

He swallows hard, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down the length of his throat. 

“It’s Yachi,” he says. This is it. This is the end. I can feel the knife in my back pocket, so heavy against my skin. If I reach for it who would win? Would there be a knife in his jaw or  bullet in my brain? What’s better?

“She came by the station this evening. Tooru, she…,” he pauses, and my hand inches behind me, “she confessed to all of the Puzzle Box murders.”


	10. Rust - Oikawa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short compared to the others because this chapter and the next are one continuing scene. After the next chapter there'll be an epilogue and then this baby is all done! Thank you all, as always, for sticking with me and continuing to support me <3
> 
> Hey you, out there in the cold  
> Getting lonely, getting old  
> Can you feel me?  
> Hey you, standing in the aisles  
> With itchy feet and fading smiles  
> Can you feel me?  
> Hey you, don't help them to bury the light  
> Don't give in without a fight
> 
> Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?  
> Open your heart, I'm coming home  
> Hey you, out there on the road  
> Always doing what you're told  
> Can you help me?  
> Hey you, out there beyond the wall  
> Breaking bottles in the hall  
> Can you help me?  
> Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all  
> Together we stand, divided we fall
> 
> \- Pink Floyd

Something changes in his eyes, but I can’t quite tell what it changes  _ to _ . A moment ago he was calm, I think, hair sticking up and gaze heavy as if I had woken him from a nap. But now I don’t know. Not shock, not surprise, not anything I expected when I rehearsed every scenario out in my head on the way over; something else, almost calculating.

“Tooru, did you hear me?” I ask, squeezing his shoulder gently. He blinks, as if he just noticed I was standing in front of him. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together. I can’t begin to imagine what he must be going through. I can see the cogs turning in his head, trying to figure out how someone he’s known practically his whole life could be capable of something like this. 

Hell, I only met Yachi today and I’m still reeling. How could that calm, sweet girl be such a monster in disguise? I didn’t even believe her at first. 

I had stopped by the station with Hikari on our way home, bringing half the fruit she picked out to leave with the guys and ending up getting stuck looking over some new files Kuroo found and left on my desk. Hikari was begging me to finish so we could leave when I saw her smile and yell “Miss Yachi!”. I looked up and my heart sank, wondering what news would make her come all the way there to tell me. Kuroo’s eyes lit up until he saw the darkness in hers downcast. Akaashi must have seen the look on my face, gliding forward to greet her before I could open my mouth to speak. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, not knowing her but sure that she had something to do with me, eyeing me from the side.

“Yes,” she answered, firm. All traces of fear were gone, all nervousness, all doubt. She was calm, stoic, and it was unsettling. “I’ve come to turn myself in.”

“Yachi, what are you talking about?” Kuroo asked, suddenly stepping forward and stumbling as his shoe caught the edge of my desk. “Turn yourself in for what?”

There was a break in her expression, a flash of sadness and surprise. It was gone too quickly, but I saw it. Was she just like Tooru? A stack of never ending masks layered upon each other? Which was her mask?  Which Yachi had I met?

Yachi let out a deep breath, shaking her head as if to ground herself, and looked up to meet my eyes. “I’m who you’ve been looking for, and I’m ready to end this. I’m the Puzzle Box Killer.”

The ground might as well have not existed; I grabbed the corner of my desk to keep me from toppling into it. 

Oikawa does the same, stumbling backwards and sitting heavily on the coffee table. “How do you know?”

“She gave a confession. We have her in holding at the station right now. Tooru, I-,”

“No, how can you be  _ sure _ ? Do you just slap anyone in irons who claims to have done a crime?” He’s frantic, one hand fisting into his hair as he rocks slightly on the table. I want to reach out, to touch him, to comfort him, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

“We questioned her for a long time, Tooru. She knew things that were never released to the public, things I didn’t even tell  _ you _ . Things we didn’t even know.” I clench my fists, remembering the sound of those awful words coming from her mouth. I’ve met criminals before, spoke with murderers, but this was beyond murder. She wasn’t just a person doing terrible things, she was an animal, a  _ monster _ . I’d wanted to catch her for so long, been so angry, but having her before me was like looking at something I could never comprehend. 

I started off the questioning, my duty as the head of the investigation. My hands shook as she sat silently at the table, wrists cuffed and resting still before her. My mind was blank, so full of worry and anger I could no longer register that nothing was there at all. The only thing I could choke out was a pained “How could you?” There was another flicker, her eyes softened and her lip quivered for less than a moment, and I felt hot tears prick at the corner of my eyes. 

Akaashi came in and stopped me, shooting me a worried glance as I left. I found Kuroo on the floor beneath the one way mirror in the adjacent room, his face pressed against his folded arms across his knees, and I joined him. Neither of us spoke as we listened to Yachi’s confession, too many unacceptable truths sitting heavy in the air between us. 

Oikawa stands suddenly, hands clenching and unclenching at his side as he paces around the room. “No, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself. “Not like this. Not like this. Momma won’t like this.”

“Tooru?” I take a step forward but he turns again, ignoring me.

“Momma loves Hitoka. She won’t like this,” his words come like a stream, unbreaking, senseless. “I didn’t hurt her, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t hurt her, Momma. I-,”

“Hey,” I say, hating the pained way he speaks and wanting to make it stop. His head snaps up as if he just remembered I was here. His gaze softens a little, his arms loosening and falling back to his sides. “It’s going to be okay.”

He steps toward me, bridging the gap between us, and I reflexively press a palm against his cheek. Its cold, and he sighs against the warmth of my hand. “Everything is ruined,” he whispers, soft and broken. 

I feel my heart shatter in my chest as I pull him to me. He’s known nothing but tragedy, and this is like the final stake through his heart. I can’t even begin to understand, to empathize, so I just hold him. His breathing is shallow as he continues to mumble, and all I can do is run a hand through his hair and down his back, cooing and whispering that it’ll be okay. 

“We’ll get through it,” I tell him, not knowing whether it’s true or not. “I’m here.”

As the words leave my mouth something clicks inside of me. I’ve asked myself so many times why I care so much about him, why I do so much to be near him, to know him. I came here without hesitation, walking out of the most important day of my career to make sure he was safe and to tell him about Yachi myself, wanting to be there to steady him instead of letting him hear about it on the news. I put aside my months of work, my sleepless nights spent poring over endless case files and photos of corpses, just to make sure he had someone to hug when he needed it. 

And the thing is, I wanted to. I  _ wanted _ to be here, I wanted my arms to be the ones he fell into. I’m here for him because I want to be, because I care about him, and I’ll stay here because I love him. I pushed the idea away for so long, worried about masks and lies and past trauma. I wouldn’t admit it to myself because I knew he didn’t feel the same, but I’m not sure I care anymore. He’s lost the only person whose been there for him for so long, someone who may have never cared about him at all, and now I’m all he has. 

I hate myself for thinking that way, like maybe he’ll love me back if he sees that I truly care about him. I shake away the thought and press my face into the curve of his neck. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me, Tooru,” I whisper against his skin, silently hoping he needs me as much as I need him.

He stiffens and steps back, his eyes almost glowing gold in the reflection of the dim light. “You should leave.”

My mouth goes dry, my body cold with the absence of him. Suddenly I taste vodka on my tongue, salt on my lips, as the memory of another night comes flooding in like déjà vu. The first night I kissed him, when alcohol and stress had removed the barrier between my heart and my tongue and I spoke far too much and confessed far too little. That was the first night I had to convince myself I felt nothing but lust instead of love, holding back my feelings that pounded angry fists against the back of my teeth, screaming to be let out and make their journey to his ears. That night I stood on his silent porch in the dark, my shirt in my hands and my pants straining, and told myself not to expect to be loved in return simply because I felt it. 

And now I feel it again; that wound ripped right back open and fresh blood spilling out. I want so badly to be here, to love him and to be loved by him and to move forward in this fucked up situation together, but it’s unrequited. It’s nothing but a brick wall I keep throwing myself against and coming back a little more battered every time. 

I knew this, expected it, but it still stabs straight through me, the blade twisting and destroying me as it goes. 

“Tooru, you don’t have to deal with this alone,” I say, my voice like a choked whisper. 

“I’m not. I’m not alone,” he tells me, hand reaching back into his hair and tugging at the disheveled strands. He turns suddenly, staring in the direction of the hallway. “No, you’re wrong. You don’t know. I’m not afraid.”

“Hey,” I grab his shoulders, turning him towards me and meeting his crazed eyes. “Calm down, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“You’re wrong,” he mumbles, straining his neck to look back over his shoulder. “I’m not afraid. Momma loves her, Momma loves  _ me _ .”

“Tooru!” I yell, shaking him slightly. All I can see is that broken, helpless boy from Kaori’s story, the one who couldn’t accept the dark truths thrust upon him. He’s breaking all over again, but this time he needs to understand. “There’s no one here, Tooru. Your parents aren’t here.  _ I’m _ here; you’re here. I’m going to help you through this.”

His eyes change again, and it startles me so much I let go of him and stumble backward. There’s something there, something insidious, like an entirely different being staring out of him and into me. It’s animalistic, licking its lips as it reaches for me with beckoning claws and dripping razor teeth. Is this what Kaori saw?

“They’re here,” he practically spits. “They’re always here with me. You should leave.”

If this is the face she saw beneath the mask then I understand why she left. Why she ran and never looked back, but I can’t do the same. I won’t leave him all alone again, not with this. 

I stand firm, digging my heels into the carpet and taking a steadying breath. “No, Tooru, they’re not. They’re dead. But you’re not alone.”

“Quiet.”

“What?”

“You’ll wake them.” He says it so calmly, a clarity washing over him as his eyes dart to the staircase and back to me. 

I’m floored, speechless, until it changes to frustration. I don’t know how to handle this, how to break him out of this delusion except to force him out of it. I take a step, watching for his reaction, and then another. He stares, unwavering, silent, as I walk to the bottom of the staircase. “I have to do this, Tooru. You have to understand.” He doesn’t respond, eyes never leaving me, and I begin to climb. 

The stairs look the same as they did in my dream, one I forced myself to forget, but the hall is vastly different. Instead of one stretched corridor with a single door, it’s as ordinary as a hall can be. Three doors on one side, one on the other, and another door facing me at the very end. Without hesitation I make my way towards it, not knowing why or if it’s correct. There are no footsteps behind me as I turn the nob, but when I step in I can feel his presence behind me. 

The room is dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the hallway stretching in a triangle on the hardwood floor. It smells of dust, musty and thick, and a hint of some old lingering scent I can’t quite place. Almost sweet, yet sour and fetid. 

There’s a click, like an old fashioned lamp chain, and yellow light floods the room. I want to turn and find the source of the noise, but something catches my eye. In the middle of the room, against the far wall, sits a bed, and my stomach turns to ice as I see shapes beneath the heavy quilt comforter. 

“Go ahead, say hello,” Oikawa’s voice is next to my ear, making me suck in a mouthful of the foul air. “Don’t be rude.”

My legs move as if on their own, pulling me forward as my brain screams for me to leave. My heart pounds, my hands shaking as they touch the quilt. My fingers leave a trail in the thick dust, clinging to my damp skin. 

“Do it.”

I pull back the blanket, the smell hitting me like a wave as my knees buckle but I do not fall. There are two bodies, nothing but bones left in stained clothes, sitting on dried black pools in the sheets beneath them. Their mouths are opened, as if they died screaming, facing me. One side of the man’s ribs are caved in beneath his shirt, the woman is missing an arm. I can see the ghosts of them, begging me to help, to run, their hands grasping for my still blood warmed skin. 

Something sharp sinks into the curve of my neck, and I feel cold, foreign liquid pump into me as I crumple to the floor. 

“Momma and Daddy don’t like to be woken,” Oikawa says, pushing my back against the nightstand so I face him. “I guess there’s no fixing it now.”

“What have you done?” I try to stand but my leg gives out beneath me and I fall back against the nightstand, knocking over a clock that shatters glass across the floor. I reach down to try again but my hand slides against the wood, wet with blood. 

Oikawa watches as I lift my hand to my face before letting it drop heavily into my lap, numbness travelling down my arms. 

“My parents left me,” Oikawa says, my eyes crossing as two of him kneel in front of me. “They were afraid of me. They were cowards. They deserved to die.”

“Did you,” I say, breathless. My mouth struggles to form the rest of my words, but he speaks for me. 

“Kill them? No. They did that themselves. They couldn’t live with the thought of raising a monster as a son, of housing a demon in their home so blessed by God, so they chose not to live at all.” He stands, lifting the woman’s unbroken arm with a creak and a snap, holding her hand in his. 

“I found the note they planned to leave behind, shoved inside the bible in the nightstand until the time came to leave it behind in their stead. They made the decision for me. I didn’t do this, they did it to themselves. They chose death over ever having to look at my face again. They chose death over living with what they had made. ”

My head swims as I try to make sense of what he says. None of it registers, like I’m listening to someone speak a foreign language through metal cans connected by strings. 

“You were meant for so much more.” He’s kneeling in front of me again, eyes level with mine as I struggle to keep them open. My hand is against his face; I can’t feel it but I can see it as he rubs my blood across his skin, a scarlet mask from one cheek to the other. “You were special. It’s tragic, isn’t it? Our time has been cut so short. You deserved better.”

The room drifts back into darkness, and all I can do is cling to desperate thoughts as sensation fades. To hope beyond hope, to pray to anything that might be listening to the pleading, lost souls led astray from whatever light exists in this neverending void I’ve been hurtling through with arms that reach for danger and a heart that yearns for pain. To beg that he be saved, swept away from the fast closing jaws of the monster he’s convinced himself he is. 

**Author's Note:**

> Any thoughts or comments are greatly appreciated and you can leave them here or direct them to my [tumblr.](http://ghost--fox.tumblr.com/)  
> Thank you <3


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